


Cat Got More Than Your Tongue?

by ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And A Bit More Daddy Kink, Angst, Biting, Bleeding, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Boys Are Getting Kinky, But Still Love, Car Sex, Cat Cafés, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Magic, Comfort, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Family Bonding, Gosh This Is So Confusing, Hand Jobs, He Loves Lance Really, Here comes the angst, Insecure Lance, Lance doubting Shiro, Lance in a dress, Langst, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Love comes later, M/M, Marking, Miscommunication, More Bondage, More biting, Not Much Daddy Kink, Okay I Lied A Lot More Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn With Plot, Possessiveness, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Sex, Sex Friends At First, Shiro is a little mean, Sick Shiro, Slightly Public Sex, Smut, Sort Of Artist Lance, Space Dad In The Streets, Space Daddy In The Sheets, Spanking, Teasing, The final showdown, baby kink, barista, fluffy aftercare, more daddy kink, possessive kink, shance, slight angst, slight subspace, uh oh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 101,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14216484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon/pseuds/ididntdoit_blameitonthedragon
Summary: Lance stumbles into a Café one cold night, looking for somewhere to take shelter from the snowfall, and suddenly finds himself in a game of cat and mouse with one very stunning, and model-standard handsome stud. But is it just a game to Shiro, or is there more feelings there than just unadulterated lust?“But I think I love him now. And, yeah, it hasn’t even been a month, but I know for a fact that I love being with him, even when we're not having sex.  When we hang out, there are times when it almost feels like there’s more, but then I’m afraid it’s just me seeing what I want, and making stuff up that’s not actually there. You know what I mean?”Dale nods. “So what? You like him, congratulations, that’ s great and all, but if you know nothing will ever come from it, why don't you just end it now and look for someone who will actually love you back. Before you fall in too deep.""Because I think it may already be too late?" Lance says before he’s realised it.Yeah, it’s too late.Lance is in love with him. He knows it, Dale knows it, everyone probably already knows it.The only person who doesn’t know it is Shiro.





	1. Hot Chocolate Crush

**Author's Note:**

> This is the edited and extended edition of Cat Got More Than Your Tongue? originally uploaded in “Altean Bedtime Stories.”  
> Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance stumbles into Shiro’s Café.  
> Shiro flirts with Lance and, following a misunderstanding, is employed by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!

**Friday 3rd November**

The Prussian Blue purred from its place between his legs, pressing its smooth, fluid body against the pant of his damp trouser leg. It sniffed inquisitively at the clump of snow caught in the hem, withdrawing its nose from the sharp cold, but remained wrapped around the Human that smelled like Cinnamon and Peppermint. _She liked peppermint._

“Ah, sorry if you were closing. It’s just it was cold and…” the words die on Lance’s blue-tinged lips. He had slipped in through the main door, bringing with him snow and the coldness of early Autumn weather, hoping to take shelter from the sudden onslaught of an unpredicted snowfall. 

The coffee shop looked like the perfect place to go, but now he was stood in the doorway, he was regretting the decision. Chairs had been stacked on tables, stools upended on another, the floor under them gleaming from the soapy trail that lead to a mop and bucket being manned by a tall, evenly-proportioned waiter.  
Dressed in a crease-free uniform, the man resembled a well-educated butler, complete with bow tie and pocket handkerchief that one would find any _‘Alfred Pennyworth wannabe’_ wearing. 

Lance stares dumbstruck, his eyes ghosting over the form flattering trousers, the snug way the waistcoat clings to his hips….  
_And the black cat perched on the man’s shoulder._

“S-sorry,” Lance mumbled again, glancing back to his own feline companion, watching as she slid in and out of his legs, round and round, in between and back around once more. The motion has a smile on his lips, but he’s blushing from the fact he’s invading when _obviously they were closed-_  
“It’s okay, we’re open,” the sole Barista says, scooting the mop and bucket with a shining pristine shoe. The wheels whine as it moves, protesting being shoved into the back room behind the coffee counter as the man swiftly pulls stools from their stacking, chairs expertly arranged around tables and benches.  
Before Lance has finished blinking, the Café is set out perfectly. 

_And moving._

A cat watched him from the highest shelf of a bookshelf, its white fur camouflaging it with the off-white paint of the furniture piece. The only sign of it being there was the motion of its flicking tail.  
On the sofa nearest him, two gingers and a tabby are curled up together, their eyes open, fixing the newcomer and the Prussian Blue with undecipherable looks.  
There are more, peeling themselves from hiding places or moving for the first time and drawing attention to themselves. 

“There’s so many,” Lance said dumbly, looking to the Barista to check if he was aware his café had been overrun by cats. “And all live here,” the man laughs. The sound is gentle, deep and sweet all at the same time. The man’s gaze washed over him and, _oh Lord take me now,_ he’s hot!  
Lance feels his cheeks flush, looking to the Blue cat curling against this leg for a distraction.  
“I.. uh, I mean…” But words fail him.  
Quick-witted, _‘Silver-tongue’_ Lance is left with nothing but “ _ums”_ and “ _ahs”_ as the Barista approaches. He ducks down quickly, the black cat nimbly weaving towards this shoulder for a flat perch, before the man is hooking the Blue one from where it’s trying to tie itself around Lance’s ankles.  
The boy’s body went rigid, hands in fists and faces blank from the sudden closeness and the overwhelming smell of coffee beans and musk.  
He made to move back, body unable to put a foot down in case he stepped on the cat. Lance’s arms flailed, trying to find something to grab to keep him up right. He failed.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright?” the man asked, eyes wide with worry, standing to offer a hand. “Yeah, good, just peachy,” Lance breathes out in a rush, face as bright as Rudolph’s nose. 

The man smiled, eyes still sweeping Lance’s face for a sign that he’s not alright. But Lance grins back, sheepishly, but it’s enough for convincing the other he didn’t hurt himself with the tumble. 

Lance took the offered hand, letting the man pull him to his feet. Easily Lance thinks to himself, taking the moment to admire rippling muscles under the tight shirt.  
Unnecessary thoughts poured heat into his groin and Lance was sure his ears were now glowing like traffic lights. _Calm down dick, not now._

The Prussian Blue mewled pitifully from the distance of its new found friendship with the Small-Human, and Lance is quick to forget the embarrassment.  
He is smiling again. “Sorry again, I thought you were closing up.”  
“I was, but that’s only because of the weather. I didn’t think there would be anyone out in this.” The man nodded with his chin to the window, bringing attention to the snow storm. It’s falling harder now and Lance groans inwardly. It’s going to be hell getting home, but it was his fault thinking to walk with heavy snow on the predicted forecast. 

“Sorry, I’ll get out of your hair.”  
Of course the place was closed, and Lance is just forcing the man to stay at work because he stupidly came in here.

“Don’t worry. You’re welcome as long as you’re not allergic to cats. “You’re not allergic, are you?” he adds as an after thoughts, eyeing the discolouration on Lance’s face, eyes sweeping his body for a sign or rash or swelling or-  
“I’m fine, I’m good,” Lance all but practically yelled, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to put some distance between them and hide his half-hard member pressing at his too-tight-skinny-jeans. 

The idiot almost tripped again, but he managed to support himself with the sofa beside him.  
And the Barista is helping, an arm under his armpit to keep him from ending up on the floor. _Again._

Barista laughed slightly, standing beside Lance and holding out a hand. One remained around the body of the Blue cat, prosthetic it seemed, offering Lance the other. He wondered if the man had made a conscious decision of which hand to present to help this bumbling fool that was about to wreck his café.

Lance accepted the help and stood up, trying not to be obvious as he leant forward, hoping the parka he wore was concealing his dirty thoughts. _Mmm dirty. Maybe he’d spank me for being a bad boy-_  
“Well,” Lance practically yelped, rocking on the balls of his heels, trying to decide if he wants the floor to swallow him, or imagine this Hunk of a man go down on his knees and _oh my god!_

“Now that I’ve disturbed your peaceful evening, I’ll be leaving-”  
“Nope, not happening.”

Suddenly there’s a hand on Lance’s shoulder and he’s being guided to the Coffee bar. The man places the Prussian Blue on one of the barstools, gesturing to the other with a firm prod of his thumb. Lance takes it meekly, wondering if this was about to turn into a posh shakedown of some sort.  
But instead of handing over his wallet and the valuables in his snow-soaked backpack, Lance is given a full-fat, filled to the brim, mug of Hot Chocolate, complete with whipped cream, mini marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles. 

“To warm you up,” the Barista explains when Lance gapes at him. “I- _uh, I mean,_ how much,” he begins to ask, hand about to dig into his bus money for payment, but stops when the man lifts a hand. He smiles, finger on chin as he thinks. “Hmm, I’m sure I can think of something-” _oh god_ “- but for now, how about a moment of your time? It’s pretty empty here, and I’ve got nothing else to do until my brother comes home.

“Besides, the snows getting heavier,” he says, nodding to the window where, true enough, the weather is taking _another_ turn for the worst.  
_Or not,_ Lance’s libido mutters. _Now we’re trapped with hottie and, don’t look know but I think he’s undressing you with his eyes._  
Lance looks over. True enough, this Adonis of a Barista has his gaze on Lance, brushing up the curve of his slightly hunched body, the point of his chin, the brush of hair that is damp from melting snow-

Lance forces his gaze down, back to the steaming beverage, glancing to the Blue cat beside him as if hoping she’ll tell him whether or not to run. She’s just watching him though, same as the black cat on the man’s shoulders. 

_Heck, if that cat like him he can’t be a bad person._  
So Lance takes a sip, humming to the feeling of warmth sliding down his throat, warming him from inside. He tips the mug back then, downing the thing in one go, ignoring the scalding in his mouth, the burn that changed from warm to hot too soon. The cream has already melted and the mini marshmallows are the size of his pinkie nail as he chews them mindlessly.  
The rich, creamy chocolate beverage was the perfect size, and Lance knows he wouldn’t be able to take another, but still finds himself looking longingly to the empty glass. Now he regrets chugging it. 

“Thanks,” Lance grins to the Barista who’s cleaning behind the bar. He looks over, his face cracking with a grin and he’s hiding laughter behind his hand. “You got- …just a bit,” the man says through the noise, motioning to his own top lip. “Cream Moustache.” 

And _oh my god, so embarrassing._  
Lance is blushing as he smears his face into his coat sleeve, muttering a slur of _“thanks”_ and “ _sorry.”_

“It’s fine. You remind me of my brother.” The man has a twinkle in his eye and the heat is back, in Lance’s groin and on his face. 

“Oh, hang on. You still have a bit-” and before Lance can duck away, the man reaches over to wipe the froth that clung to the corner of his top lift.  
Lance’s half-hard erection stands to attention and he’s about to combust when the man _takes his fucking finger and licks off the cream that was just on Lance’s fucking lips.  
Oh my god, oh my god, ohmyfuckinggod-_

The moment shatters however when the door opens, accompanied by the jingling of a bell. Lance turns like he’s been electrified, a deer in the headlights as another enters the coffee shop. He’s shorter than Lance, not by much, but suddenly he feels ten centimetres tall under the fierce glare that’s been sent his way.  
The boy looks like he’s just jumped out of a My Chemical Romance poster: black hair, black kevlars and thick combat boots. Yep you guessed it; _Black._

The stranger’s hair is wild and fluffy around his head, much like a lion mane, and if Lance wasn’t crapping himself he’d laugh at the old-school style mullet.  
Black piercings sit snug on the pinna of his ear, another two like fangs on his bottom lip and a tattoo curling up his neck. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he growls as he stamps off the snow from his feet, juggling with a motorbike helmet as he shrugged out of a red semi-jacket that stops around his mid-rift, revealing a _fucking sleeveless crop top in the middle of Winter._

“Keith, you’re going to die of the cold if you wear something like that in snow.”  
“I didn’t know it was going to snow, now did I?” the other snaps, a fluffy ball of anger and brooding. “But enough of that,” he waves, pointing a finger in the pairs direction. 

“Shiro, what the fuck are you doing?”  
Lance looks to the older, eyes looking for answers to the very same question. Shiro laughs, his eyes tilted seductively as he says, in a very low tone, “just teasing the new kid.”  
Lance’s blush gets a recharge and he’s sat there like a freshly snapped glow stick.

Keith makes a disgusted noise, pushing past the bar, towards the back of the shop. “Keep your flirting PG, there’s a shit tonne of windows right there,” he growls before slipping through a door Lance hadn’t previously seen.  
“My brother,” Shiro supplies. 

But then Keith’s back, his head round the corner. “Oi, new kid. I don’t approve until you make me a decent cup of coffee. Snap to it.”  
But before Lance can ask _“what?”_ Keith is gone. There’s noise as he runs upstairs and Lance is, once again, to stare confused at Shiro, waiting for a _get-out-of-jail-free_ card, or an explanation. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was Shiro’s thoughtful expression and almost sardonic smile. “That’s not a bad idea.” 

The Cuban gulped, wondering just what he had walked into when he decided to hide from the snow...


	2. I Sold My Soul For Hot Coco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is suddenly serving Shiro’s friends coffee, but that’s not the most memorable moment of the night.

**Friday 3rd November**

“Ah, um… _what?”_ is all Lance manages to say, still sat on the barstool like a friggin idiot, looking between Shiro and the empty doorway that just had Keith standing there like an emo version of Heath Ledger.   
His brain is still half goo from wandering fantasies, the rest stuck between Keith’s “ _make me coffee”_ and the brother’s reply of “ _that’s not a bad idea.”  
What’s not a bad idea? _

But Shiro doesn’t get the chance to give him a _get-out-of-jail-free_ card because suddenly, the bell is jingling and a cold wind rushes in, just as a small group of strangers swarm the door, huddling in their inappropriate summer attire. At least none of them are wearing a crop-top. 

“Welcome,” Shiro calls, nudging Lance behind the counter as he passes, expertly swiping up Lance’s bag and places it in the cleaners cupboard, shutting the door, before making his way over to the teens cooing at the Ginger on the sofa.

“I was just thinking it was a cute name, I didn’t actually there would be cats in here,” one girl, tall with blonde hair says. She looks familiar, and Lance wonders if it’s just her stereotype outfit, or if she’s someone who also attends lectures at University. 

Shiro moves closer to the group. It seems he knows them because all the guys clap his back. The shortest male bumps their forearms together like a Viking greeting, and Lance is left to watch, when suddenly the girls are making their way to the counter.   
Shiro doesn’t move to take their orders. _Wait, he was being serious about Lance working here?_

Lance has missed his window to deny, or kick up a fuss, considering he was going to pay £2.30 for a hot chocolate, not a night working the shop floor.   
Still, it’s not like he can put Shiro on the spot, even if these people are his friends. So he stands behind the bar and offers a smile to the first in line. He’s small, thumbing through his phone without so much as a glance up. “The usual.”   
Yes, because Lance is a mind reader. 

“And what will that be?”   
The boy looks up, eyes widening slightly behind the thick rim owl glasses that look too big when they perch precariously on the end of his nose. He pushed them up with a thumb, mindful so that’s he’s not leaving fingerprints all over the glass. “Ah sorry, thought you were Keith.”   
Then, before he’s ordered, the boy turned, voice raised over his shoulder to big Boss-man, in conversation with another who has striking resemblance to Lance’s customer. Undeniably, they’re brothers. 

“Hey Shiro, when did you get a new hire?”  
Shiro looks up, smiling at the scene, tone dripping with smugness at this prank he’s got on Lance. “About five minutes ago. So play nice.”   
Taller-twin raised an eyebrow. “That’s not like you Shiro. Unless, wait is that—” but he’s quickly shut up when Shiro talks over him with a pointed look. He seems to get whatever message Lance missed, and the three guys are back talking about something or other. Lance can’t hear them over the two girls whining, _“but Shiro, you said you’d hire me after Christmas.”_

The kid turns back (kid because he doesn’t look any older than thirteen), an eyebrow raised. Him, and the other two girls look at Lance. He can practically read their minds as their eyes sweep up and down Lance’s body, (or as much of it as they can see from the other side of the bar). _Not bad. Prefer the hottie in full uniform though._  
And now, thanks to Shiro, they’re out to challenge him. 

“What can I get you?” the boy asks, flashing a smile, tilting his head to his best selfies angle, and _yep,_ got the third one. She blushes, but Lance’s focus is on the boy, who goes first. Tall, Non-Fat Latte with Caramel Drizzle.   
_Easy._

If this was the first time Lance worked in a Coffee Shop, he’d be confused with the instructions. But now is his time to play master of hands, and he’s ready. 

Lance passed the order over before the other two whilst they’re playing gossip girl behind their hands.   
It’s not Lance they’re talking about, but Shiro. He’s moved to the sofa with the other two, his waistcoat and apron folded up on one of the tables as the Black cat hogs his lap. It’s a confusing notion, but before Lance can say anything, it’s the second ones turn to order something they’ve found on a “ _Secret Menu_ ” website. 

This one is working the _rich-but-bitch_ stereotype to the T; freshly dyed hair styled as straight as their buff boyfriend who does more than ogle other men’s muscles at the gym. She’s wearing skinny ¾ lengths, high-waist and no coat to show off her ass. They’re the ones where the knees are all ripped because even in winter, _got to show some skin._ That notion goes so far as her feet where, instead of snow boots like Lance wish he was wearing, this girl is rocking gladiator sandals, complete with painted toenails and a touch of frost bite.   
Then comes the thin top and _can’t-possibly-be-keeping-them-warm_ half-jumper made of Himalayan Alpaca fur; with matching hand bag and phone case that costs more than Lance’s monthly rent.

She’s got a butterfly tattoo kissing her neck, loopy spaghetti writing of the words, _“Princess”_ underneath, and Lance hopes its not her stripper name. Or the name of her kid.   
The girl forces a fake smile between two blood red lips, the lipstick bleeding onto her teeth, but Lance isn’t about to give her tips on her makeup. This girl is definitely trying to hide something underneath all the foundation. Besides, _Shiro’s friends,_ his memory supplies and “ _play nice”_ is his number one rule right now. 

“What would you like?” Lance asks, trying to keep his tone polite, but he’s seen the look in her eye already.   
She knows Shiro’s angle and she’s playing with her gloves off, smirking as she reels back to order, eyes flicking to her phone twice before she speaks because it’s complicated and _there’s no way this kid is going to get this one right. Shiro’s going to regret hiring him._

It’s a stupid game, and she thinks knocking Lance down a peg or two will somehow raise her own status. Between her friends, maybe, but she has to understand it will do nothing with her standings with Shiro. Probably because she wants the part-time job, and she wants to ogle at some eye-candy day in and day out.   
Jealously looks good on her, and Lance doesn’t bend under the scowl. He’s got a one up on her; he’s got a _(albeit temporary)_ job here and although he’s never going to be Shiro’s bed partner, he can at least get some comfort in the fact that he’s got something over this girl. 

_C’mon babe, try and show me up. I can take it._

“I’ll have a tall, non-fat frappuccino, ten pumps of vanilla, extra hot, with extra whipped cream and chocolate sauce.” 

It’s obvious that her common sense is running on reserve because she’s practically ordered a diet coke with a super-sized, fast food meal.  
Lance just flashes her a smile. She’s shocked he didn’t ask her for a repeat, but not as much when suddenly there’s a drink her hand and this kid has turned to her other companion without so much as a flirting comment which she’s used to. _Nah babe, I like girls a little less plastic, in both body and mind._

Shiro takes his attention for a second and he glances over, hearing his laughter in the quiet of the café.   
Shiro’s cocked an eyebrow. He looks a little impressed. 

Lance is biting back a smile and he’s glad the counter is high enough his crotch isn’t the main focus here. _Stop it Shiro, I’m meant to be working. It was your idea and everything._

But, he’s in Shiro’s sights and he wants to play this game like he’s got tits and a body Shiro would take to bed.   
_C’mon girls, give me more of a challenge._

The last girl, prettiest by far, with her dark skin, naturally white hair wild and messy as it frames a nude painted face. She’s tried to get it under control, shoving the thing under a pom-pom topped beanie, but rivulets of curls still stick out at all angles. She’s cute.   
Lance gives her a genuine smile. “Crème Frappuccino, three pumps caramel, three pumps toffee nut, extra whipped cream and caramel drizzle.”   
And god, Lance loves this girl because she’s just ordered what he does every time he walks into Starbucks. 

“One Butterbeer Frappucino coming right up.” 

Suddenly, it’s not all about impressing Shiro, and Lance is exchanging lines of Harry Potter with the other, making Ravenclaw jokes related to her attire, and here she is asking where Crookshanks is.   
If Lance took a moment to look up, he might’ve noticed something off about his new boss, but he’s too busy throwing out Harry Potter pick-up lines that has this girl laughing and giggling behind her hand, throwing back her own. Lance thinks he’s met his match with wit and charm, but it’s not a battle, it’s banter and he’s enjoying himself, even if Shiro is giving the pair a pointed look that says stop. 

It’s not until Lance drops the bomb; “ _Wanna go mange some mischief together? I solemnly swear I’m up to no good,”_ does Shiro eventually get back to work, knocking a knuckle on the girl’s head. “Enough Allura. Lance is meant to be working.”   
“Kill joy,” the girl pouts, but she takes the Butterbeer Frappucino and hands over enough money to cover all three drinks and then some. Before Lance can ring the drinks up, he notices Shiro has grabbed two more cups and punched “ _berry smoothie_ ” into the electronic till. 

They’re for the guys, Lance realises because they’re up off the sofa, waiting for their drinks whilst Lance rings up the remaining orders. 

Then, as quick as they had come, the group is leaving.   
“Matt, don’t forget your phone,” Shiro says, waving to the mobile still on the sofa. “You know, you can come out once in a while. It won’t kill you to take a morning off now and again,” Matt says. It seemed the group had come here on the hopes of getting Shiro to go out drinking.   
At first, Lance felt bad because him being here had stopped that, but then listening more told him Shiro rarely ever took them up on the offers. 

“Look around Matt. Do you really think I’m going to say yes _this time?”_ Matt does a sweep on the Café, his eyes lingering on Lance, who doesn’t notice the pause. “Fine, I guess not. But if everything goes tits up, give us a ring. We’re planning to stay out all night.”   
Shiro admonishes him with a curt _“language,”_ then he’s chasing them from the shop with a sense of urgency that has Lance wondering if he’s angry. 

The door closes and Shiro flipped the _“closed”_ sign on the door. “Sorry about them,” Shiro says, sheepishly dragging a hand through the undercut just above where neck and head join. “It’s cool,” Lance says with a shrug, making his way from behind the counter. He can now, his hard-on has died down. 

“Um… was that okay?” Lance says to the silence, glancing back, aware he’s blushing from embarrassment because, “I just served your friends and I don’t even work here,” he adds when Shiro looks at him confused. Then he’s smiling. “Well, it was a joke at first, but you went along with it. Sorry for teasing you, I just…” he trails off, blushing again, his attitude quite different to the hot barista Lance had met when he first walked in.   
Not that Shiro’s not hot now, it’s just, he was hotter when he was confident. 

“It was fun,” the boy grins, next to Blu, (Allura told him her name), who has remained on the barstool the entire time. “I haven’t worked in a Café since my summer jobs at home. You’re lucky really. What would you have done if I hadn’t known how to make the drinks.”  
Shiro cocked an eyebrow, the teasing smile back in place. “I would’ve shown you of course.” 

Is he… _flirting?_ Or is Lance and his libido reading too much into it?   
But when Shiro licks his lip, his gaze so obviously sweeping Lance’s body again, the boy is sure the man is flirting with him. 

_Time to test the waters._

“Well then I have to say it’s a shame that I know how to make coffee.” He schools expression soft, eyes pouring out waves of attraction, jutting his hip so that it makes his butt more prominent. And yes, he’s so glad he’s wearing his skinnies and high tops because his prides himself on his legs and wit.   
And his legs are the eye candy that makes Shiro move closer. 

“You know, I do do refresher courses,” he says with a barely subtle grin. He’s a predator and Lance is his prey, who’ll fall willingly because, _oh god this guy is making a move and don’t screw it up now Lance, he’s got a hot body, he can have a pick of the litter, you’re so lucky he’s targeting you._

“What’s the fee for this… _course?”_  
“I’m sure the details can be _thoroughly_ touched upon?”   
“Only touched upon?” 

They’re in the same space and Lance didn’t even know when Shiro had made his way over. But he’s here and Lance tears his eyes away from the man’s face to watch him slowly, _tantalisingly slow,_ reach out. It’s his prosthetic this time, and there’s something personal about the way he rests two metal fingers on the soft skin of Lance’s wrist.   
It’s not as cold as he’s expecting and, although he remains still, his body is relaxed as the touch turns from fingertips to palm, and Shiro suddenly has a grip on the boy’s wrist. 

The man raises both eyebrows, concealing his lust for a moment as he asks for permission. Not to break the mood, Lance graces him with a bigger smile, his _“permission”_ given, carefully worded just to stoke the fires a little more. “I hope this is going to be a hands on experience. I don’t learn so well if I’m only watching.” 

And just like that, Lance is being led to the back of the shop, Shiro’s grip still on his wrist. It’s not restraining, only a touch connecting the pair and Lance knows that the smallest of tugs will release him and somehow, somehow he _knows_ Shiro won’t think any less of him for it.   
But no, he wants Shiro, probably more than Shiro wants a night or release. 

This isn’t love. It’s lust, and Lance has been craving skin ship and _oh god,_ he’s going to get it at the top of these stairs. They’re in the back, only pausing a second so Shiro can flick all the lights off in the Café, before leading Lance up to the connected living space. 

Interior design isn’t Lance’s major, but he can definitely appreciate the simple, yet modern living area awash with off-set creams, oak and an array of red and purple in striking combination.   
Shiro doesn’t stop on that floor though, and he’s up another set, onto a main landing with three doors. Two closed, one open and Lance barely gets a chance to get his bearings before he’s through the closest door, back up to the wall and there are lips on his. 

“Tell… tell me,” he says, breaking the kiss to move to Lance’s neck, where the boy can’t help but moan softly, trying not to make too much noise. He’s had sex in his apartment too many times to know about thin walls and flatmates that don’t want to hear you doing the do. It makes breakfast awkward. 

“Tell me, if I come on too strong,” Shiro says and Lance’s breath hitches when he grinds their members together, impossibly hard and _god I hope he’s as big as he feels._  
“I’m just worried about you coming too fast,” Lance says, his laugh breaking into hitching pants when Shiro drags teeth against his skin. “Well there’s no problem there.” 

Suddenly, there are arms around Lance’s waist and he can’t help the squeak that makes it past panting lips as he’s off the floor and his dick is pressing on rock hard abs, and he can feel Shiro against his legs. “You’re… _mmm,_ so hot,” Shiro says, head up to catch Lance’s lips. There’s a nudge of the tongue and Lance is quick to open his mouth, inviting, relinquishing control so that Shiro can explore, so he can taste him, get to know him.   
Lance elevates his own power though, and holds the pair connected; one hand behind Shiro’s neck to play with the clipped undercut, the other working the top button of the man’s uniform shirt undone. 

He’s so focused, he’s not ready when Shiro’s body tilts and suddenly, his back is on something soft. He hasn’t crashed there; Shiro had one hand on his back to slowly lower him, but the cushiony surface he is on isn’t as soft as a bed and Lance’s mind jumps to _Red Room._  
He takes a moment to look past Shiro, not able to turn his head too much to explore because Shiro is still feeling every soft curve of the boy’s teeth, dancing with Lance’s tongue to lead it into his own mouth. He’d play along, but Lance caught sight of _something_ with a thick metal frame, metal hooks and black ropes. 

_Oh shit._

Shiro pauses.   
And it’s not too hard to figure out why, because Lance is as stiff as a surfboard, his heart thumping faster, not from heat, but a spike of curiosity and maybe, maybe, a little fear. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Shiro asks. He pulls back, a hand on Lance’s cheek, thumb massaging his cheek, face soft with concern. He’s pulled back enough that Lance’s eyes can get a proper look, and he can’t help but laugh out loud when the _thing_ he was looking at is a weight machine, the kind you find at the gym. What he’s laid on is a sofa, but there’s also a bed in the room so this location is primarily for foreplay. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”   
Because Lance is, but he’s just ruined the mood because he can’t keep his mind focused on this addictive-as-drugs _god._

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just I thought—” But before he can supply an excuse, there’s a sound of a door and heavy footfalls outside the bedroom door. 

“Oops,” Shiro says, but he doesn’t look sorry. The bell of the shop door goes off, followed by the door shutting, and Shiro’s grin is back, prominent on his gorgeous features.   
“With Keith out the house, now you can make as much noise as you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in Shance hell.  
> Leave me here I love it.


	3. Some Crumpet With Your Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets some.  
> Shiro is the one giving it.

**Friday 3rd November**

Lance thought that with Keith gone, it would be _‘brakes off’_ for Shiro, and they’d be at it like bunnies until sun up. But with Keith gone, Shiro almost became _lover-like._  
They joined at the lips again, but the kiss was soft, without tongue and full of feelings that had the boy’s toes tingling. Lance would associate such with a lover, not a one night stand. The reminder of their relationship is a sobering thought that shoots through him like lightening, but at least he’s not tensing up.   
In fact, he melts when he feels Shiro’s hands on his top, both working the cloth like he’s ironing it with his hands. 

The man’s palms, flat on Lance’s chest work up to his neck, kneading the skin down, around his chest, down to his hips where they hook in above the bone, experimental squeezes places here and there, searching for a touch that would have Lance unwinding in his hands.   
The boy’s own are around the man’s neck. He can’t help but fiddle with the undercut, rubbing the pads of his fingers in reverse to the hair line, feeling the soft prickle spring back from his release of tension.   
Shiro must like it because he turns his neck, moving Lance’s fingers behind his ears, letting them work their magic there. 

Both of their eyes are closed, focused more on feeling the passion than soaking in the hot body. It’s easier to feel lust in the rushed heartbeat, smell it in the air, listen to the inhales a little too shallow for normal breathing.   
Suddenly Lance’s breath is gone, his eyes open wide when one of Shiro’s fingers pinch at his left nipple through the cloth. It’s a new experience, _not sex, he’s played that game aplenty,_ but it’s the first time his nipple has been pinched and oh god, Lance blushes from the whimper when Shiro takes it in his mouth.   
Separated by the material of the boy’s graphic T but Shiro doesn’t seem to notice, nipping, sucking, making Lance buck his hips up to join him because “ _oh god I need it, I need it right now.”_

“Not yet,” Shiro laughs back and Lance whimpers louder this time, feeling hands on his wrists, pulling them from the crop undercut, near Shiro’s neck. “I’m going to give your nipples a bit more loving first. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

It’s another question for consent and Lance feels his fires flare at the man’s stoking.   
Usually his partners cut it short with a quick, “ _you want it?”_ There’s no imagination, no creativity, and it’s like they’re trying to sap the energy from the room, turning love making into a quick screw. Which, yeah, sometimes it was, but _play along at least, dude._ It’s like the guys need to cover their ass’s in society’s eyes, or sometimes they’re just too dense to have the capability of reading the mood. 

Lance prides himself on his wit and his body. When he’s the one courting, it is always continued, even through the art of making love. Sometimes it can be awkward, and although “ _wanna screw”_ does its purpose of a direct inquiry for consent; an affirmation that both parties are willing in this copious dance of bodily fluids, it’s not the sweetest, nor the sexiest way to get someone’s clothes off. 

Asking for permission in all senses, is foreplay.   
Shiro understands it. Just when Lance didn’t think he’d be any more perfect.

Shiro has set his cards on the table. He’s shown interest in Lance, in his body, and now that focus lies on his nipples. Now he’s asking Lance, not only reaffirming this is what the boy wants, but he’s giving him control. They can take it as fast, or as slow as he likes.   
He’s not like everyone else; fumbling around in the dark, pleasing themselves first and thinking of their partner second. Shiro is gauging Lance’s pleasure, vocalising the question on what Lance wants. Because it’s not just Shiro fucking him, _they’ll get to that,_ it’s desire and pleasure in more than the physical sense. 

Lance falls harder. 

Shiro has asked for permission, and Lance is all the willing for it. But he wants to feel more, and he knows how. “I think I’d like it more if I had less clothes on.” His voice isn’t too loud, it’s only Shiro he’s talking too, but he pours in his confidence into those few, clipped words and it makes the older man smile. 

“Then I’ll be happy to oblige.” 

Strong, powerful hands hook onto Lance’s arms and Shiro is pulling him up off of the sofa. Their lips meet once, twice, dancing tongues taking Lance’s focus while the taller man begins to claw at the material of the shirt, pulling it up, pausing now and again to knead fingers into the boy’s back as skin in revealed and Shiro’s touch has no obstacles. 

_“Shiro,”_ Lance whines, wanting the man to hurry up. It causes the older to chuckle and the kiss breaks as the t-shirt comes over Lances head. “Beautiful,” he tells him, leaning back to admire the boy’s own sculpted body. As rich as chocolate, warm and soft like the smoothness of leather, his skin as rich as the earth after summer rain.  
It’s his Cuban heritage that blessed him with golden skin, but it’s his thin, limber body that wears the birthday suit like Armani. 

“Beautiful,” Shiro says again, placing kisses here, there, everywhere along the skin, laughing when Lance groans at a invasive tongue on his belly button. He bucks his still-clothed hips.   
“You’re needy aren’t you,” Shiro whispers in the boy’s ear, chuckling again when Lance bucks his hips in reply. _Yes I’m needy. Yes I want your dick._

“But first…”   
Shiro returns to Lance’s nubs, teeth on one, fingers pinching the other. His breath is hot, ghosting on the sensitive skin and Lance never knew he could get turned on by his nipples, but suddenly he regrets wearing skinnies because his dick is pulsating hard and there’s no room to grow between the denim and the pressure of Shiro’s own pressed up against it.   
It’s aching for more tension, his hole twitching in anticipation because he’s pretty sure Shiro’s going to plunge into him later. 

“Patience,” Shiro chides at another buck of the hips, but he sends a hand to unzip the jeans and release a little tension.   
Lance hasn’t got patience. His head is already in the moment of fucking and their bodies need to catch up. To help them along, Lance’s hands find Shiro’s shirt buttons and, without the same grace Shiro had with undoing the younger’s jeans, he still manages to get all the buttons off. 

Their touch breaks for a mere moment, both scrambling at the man’s shirt to get it off his arms so he can get back to touching his partner, because they both want it, _want it bad no matter how much the older tries to hide it._

“Beautiful,” Shiro says again, because Lance is. But Lance, who would’ve said something along the lines of “ _the name’s Lance, not beautiful, although I’ll keep the compliment,”_ is too busy staring at the finely-toned abs, the defined muscles of the man’s upper body. He has to work out. He has to, there’s no way just working in the café and lifting trays of mugs and the odd cat will do that to a man’s body.   
But mind slipping back to the training equipment in the corner and Lance has his answer before he can even say anything. 

“You okay?”   
Shiro sounds worried, and Lance is sure that his shocked and adorning stare could be misread for uncertainty.   
And there is uncertainty. Not to the question if he wants this man, god he wants this man, he’ll do whatever to keep this man here a moment longer. 

“You’re…. _flawless,”_ Lance says, pushing himself up on one arm, hand on the toned abs, practically swooning from the soft sheen of sweat that glistens.   
Lance is so glad the lights are on. He gets to marvel at this Bruce Wayne sculpture, not having to guess, or use his imagination to fill the gaps. 

Fingers tracing the curve of each muscle, and if Shiro shivers under the touch Lance is none the wiser. Raised marks curve over his stomach, breaking the perfect skin into a map of scars and wounds, old and cleanly healed. Some are simple lines, others more jagged from torn skin. The worst are those that sit around the shoulder of his right arm, disappearing under a sleeve of black material, to prevent rubbing when the man wears his prosthetic.   
But there’s no straps keeping it in place, and want is pooling in the boy’s groin, a second thought as a hand wanders up the breast, to the shoulder muscles, his touch light as butterfly kisses on the scar tissue.   
It won’t hurt, he knows that, but all scars are deeper than physical and Lance can feel the tension the longer his fingers linger. 

The boy meets the older’s eyes, looking up to an uncertainty under many layers of therapy and self-acceptance. But still, it’s there. 

“You’re flawless,” Lance repeats, pushing himself on his toes so that he can catch Shiro’s lips. 

At the moment, he’s pretty sure kissing this man is his favourite thing to do, aside from swimming and spending Christmas with his family. He’s falling deeper and deeper into this crush but that’s okay right now, because Shiro isn’t worried anymore as he reciprocates the kiss, tongues joining to dance to the music of two hearts beating quickly, quicker still when Lance’s hands move from burn scars, down abs, to the tight waist band of the Barista standard black uniform trousers. “Show me,” he whispers against the other’s lips. 

Shiro grabbed Lance by the hips, pulling him close, arms pulling legs around him as he rolls, his legs hanging off the sofa. They’re closer, closer than they’ve been and Lance doesn’t think he ever wants to move from where he’s pressed against the older’s chest.   
A simple thrust of the hips, a yelp and Lance is thrown upwards on his perch, head knocking Shiro’s where the man works off his trousers whilst the boy takes residency on his stomach.   
It’s rock hard, there’s friction and Lance isn’t about to leave it, using it to rub himself up and down. He’s still wearing his own damn trousers. 

Shiro doesn’t move to take Lance’s trousers off when his own are dropped to the floor. There’s cloth caging his hard on, because Lance is aware of the lack-of poking his back. He’s too focused on the teeth that have found his nipples again and this time, he makes a point of lascivious cries because, “ _Oh god Shiro more, more!”_

“More?”  
 _“More!”_

“You’ll have to tell me specifically. You’ll have to tell me what you want me to do to you.”   
Lance can practically _hear_ the smirk. _Oh big boy, two can play at that._ So he bucks his hips, rolling his arse back down to the member still clad in underwear, hovering above just enough to reciprocate some sort of pressure, then it’s gone. 

Lance is up, on his knees that sit each side of Shiro’s stomach leaning to whisper breathlessly in the man’s ear.   
“I want you to take me. I want your dick, in me. I want you to mess me up inside.” 

Lance drags his tongue from ear lobe to pinna, a long trail of breath blown that drags an almost feral growl from his bed partner.   
“Up,” comes the order and Lance obliges, moving so that when Shiro pulls at jeans and underwear alike, there’s no fighting with the tightness to get Lance completely naked.   
There’s a second, _a split second,_ when Shiro pauses, taking in the sight of this boy, his tan skin aglow like honey, the sweeping lines of stomach to legs, and the bare hard-on, not a sight of hair between the boy’s thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro tells him, a kiss on cheeks alight with a blush. More on Lance’s neck, letting Shiro tilt his head with a nudge of his nose, pressed into the rich scent of this boy in his arms. Shiro’s mouth is watering to taste, and everything is there for him to explore; Lance reassuring his touches with sweet moans, little gasps and a heartbeat that thuds heavily in his chest, beneath golden skin as soft and pure as a baby’s. 

“Oh baby… you don’t know… _just how beautiful.”_

Shiro is taking his sweet time, kissing every inch of skin he can, down and down until one last, right on the tip of Lance’s member.   
He gasps, feeling lips once more on his, barely able to think straight when suddenly he’s up in the air again, in Shiro’s arms again, and although there is no surprised squeak that breaks the kiss, Lance’s legs are firmly locked around the man’s waist. The tip of his dick, peeking out from the top of the tight waist band brushes at on the inside of Lance’s thigh and _oh,_ he groans, wishing that Shiro would let him down enough so he can be impaled.   
_He wants it so bad._

Lance loves their size difference. He loves the way that Shiro can lift him so easily, love the easy way their chests seem to mould together as Lance is laid on the bed, barely given a second before the taller is climbing on top of him, a trail of kisses starting from his left knee up, around to the inner thigh.   
Lance holds a breath, but a trail of breath is the only gift to his dick, before Shiro mouths at the skin on his stomach, tongue searching for his belly button again. 

“Shiro,” Lance begs, trying to convey his need, and just how close he was to releasing, But he needed touch, pressure, _anything..._  
His breath hitches, he can’t catch it, can’t seem to focus when Shiro’s focus changes trajectory and he takes Lance’s length in his mouth. An experimenting taste of the tip before breaking touch just before the boy released, up over his stomach, up on tan skin.   
Shiro smiled, listening to the moans that fill his room, glad that he’s the one to undo this boy in this way. He raised his head because Lance has tensed up again, toes curling. Knees locked, hands up to his chest. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, a hand rubbing at the sensitive on the underside of Lance’s spent dick. Then he asks louder because he’s not sure if Lance heard him.   
Lance hadn’t at first. His mind is on this ball of nerves in his chest swelling inside him like a balloon. His head is fuzzy, and although Shiro is calling him, he can’t get brain and mouth to work together to tell Shiro he’s fine. _More_ than fine. 

Shiro works his metal finger’s between Lance’s, calling him softly, pulling him back from his sudden influx of high. “Baby, hey, how you feeling.”   
Lance splits the biggest, doe-eyed grin. “Perfect. _Absolutely perfect.”_

There’s no room for feeling embarrassed, and really, there’s nothing for the boy to be embarrassed about. Shiro pulled those noises from him, he made him cum with the simplest of touches, but the night’s not over yet and he’ll be standing tall any minute.   
For now, it’s his turn to learn Shiro’s body, to entice him with his own and lead them deeper into the night. 

Lance moves first, his gaze still a little lidded from the release that has tiredness in the back of his mind. But nope, there’s no end here, he wants what’s hiding in those pants. 

Lance moves, poised on the balls of his heels so that he’s got full view of the other. He hooks two fingers either side of Shiro’s waistband, moving closer. Not to kiss, but raise his gaze, keeping the man in his sights, solely focused on him. One hand pulls the material down, the other reaching around Shiro’s length and, Lance just has to check, but yes this man is as big as he feels. Long and thick. 

Lance licks his lips, raising an eyebrow. “I want a taste. Will you let me taste it?”  
Shiro’s brow practically rise to his hairline, but the curvature of his grin says different, and Lance places a not-so-heavy hand on the man’s chest. Shiro let’s himself be laid down, head on the pillows, their roles reversed all of sudden.   
Lance is full of confidence as he bends to give a tasting lick up the underside, just as Shiro had touched him. He knows what he likes, but it might be different for Shiro, so he makes sure to keep his eyes on the man’s face. There’s plenty of emotion. Surprise takes the spotlight, but the hooded, sex-soft gaze makes an appearance when Lance suckles at the base, nose in smooth, soft hair. _Okay, there’s one sensitive spot._

He knows another, but not yet, lips breaking contact to allow a hand it’s turn to pump the shaft once, twice, thrice, before he picks up the pace. It’s Shiro’s turn for his hips to cant up, a growl piercing the quiet for a moment. He clenches his stomach, able to sit up straighter without using his arms and _god that’s unbelievably hot_ because Lance can see all his muscles move from here. 

Shiro hasn’t just stomach crunched for showing off, he’s done is so his hand can hold Lance’s chin. A thumb wipes away saliva, and Lance relinquishes control for a moment to allow Shiro to guide him to the base again.   
“You’re full of surprises,” he says, the hand turning from grip to touch and Lance is in control once more. 

_Up, down, up, down,_ goes his hand, working in tandem to his tongue that follows the motion, the other hand hooking the pants completely off. An experimental squeeze makes Shiro hiss, but it’s not from pain.   
“Let me,” he says, and Lance is all too eager to climb up, let himself be rolled so he’s under this man, almost pinned by two legs and an arm while Shiro reciprocates the hand job to get Lance’s dick just as hard as his own. 

They’re kissing again.   
Lance is melting.   
Shiro is getting harder. 

The boy feels hands on his legs, lifting them up to expose his ass more. Shiro rolls them so they’re lying side by side, voice hitching because, _“sorry, I can’t hold back anymore.”_ A trill of shock jolts Lance. He’s not ready, it’ll hurt, _“Shiro wait—!”_ He feels Shiro’s dick, but nowhere near his entrance, instead pushed between his thighs, and thrusting to the friction. 

Holy… _holy fuck!_  
Lance’s eyes are wide, and although his hole is being ignored, he can feel Shiro as much as he would as if he was in him, feeling the tip of the man’s dick jut his balls with each thrust. It’s almost a kind of torture, but Lance likes this torture and he wants more because _wow!_

Shiro’s movements fuel their breaths ragged, the motion easier with pre-cum and the moist of sweat from the rising heat. It’s another turn on and Lance isn’t sure just how many firsts this man is going to get from him.   
He squeezes his thighs, exercising his control with the tension and Shiro practically falls apart, his hips thrusting sporadically, body shuddering as he rides the release. Lance knows what he needs and clenches just enough that Shiro yelps in surprise. 

His thighs are coated in cum, the feeling wonderful. Lance rolls on his back, looking up to Shiro with spread legs using a mixture of his own and the man’s release to circle his hole with a finger. “I want you.”  
“Do you want me?” Shiro’s voice is hitched as he stares at the wanton display, and it doesn’t matter he’s asking again, his voice simply a rush of air next to Lance’s ear, because Lance is caught up in the man’s look of total desire.   
Normally, he wouldn’t play sex like this. This is a new side to him, this wanton, lusty boy who is spreading his legs in invitation. _Another first, and he doesn’t even have a dick in him yet._

“I want to cum from my butt.” 

The words paint Shiro’s cheek a darker red, but it’s his laugh that makes Lance squirm. “Quite the pervert, aren’t you…”

Shiro moves in, his predator stare fixed on the naked sacrifice before him. But instead of stopping in front of Lance’s arse and plump, tan hole, he moves so chests are aligned and he’s snatching another kiss. Lance deepens it, unaware of anything else, until the lips are gone and Shiro’s backed up, settled between the boy’s thighs.   
Lance watches him, eyes closing as a trailing hand lingers on the skin of his arse, kneading, caressing. “Beautiful,” he whispers, voice laced with awe as finger tips move from arse to thigh, to sensitive skin near the twitching hole that is so ready and desperate to be filled. 

There’s a click, and Lance’s dirty mind jumps to a darker place, eyes opening with a gasp when something cold dribbles down, just above his entrance. “Sorry,” Shiro says with a smile, “but it’ll warm up soon.” But Lance doesn’t care because there is something poking at his entrance, circling, rubbing over, circling around and in.   
Lance gasps but it slips into laughter when Shiro instantly pulls out, his prosthetic finding Lance’s left hand to offer a comfort.   
“You okay?”   
“Well I was,” Lance laughs, bringing Shiro’s hand, although metal, he gives it a kiss, hoping Shiro can feel something more than just ghosting lips. Or, he starts too, but then a gasp takes his air when the finger dives in, deeper this time. 

“Beautiful,” Shiro says, and Lance smiles. He turns the hand over, kissing the underside more on the palm, then, as if a hint to Shiro, sucks on the middle finger, curling it with his tongue so he can take it in his mouth.   
Shiro’s eyes bug, his flesh-hand frozen with a second finger poised at the entrance. Lance takes the initiative and sucks on two, flashing a look for Shiro to continue. 

And he does. Slowly, but he does. 

Lance isn’t a virgin, but Shiro’s treating him as such and, _god_ can this man be any more perfect? 

The second finger slips in and Lance doesn’t bother hiding his gasp this time. Honestly, it’s not been a while since sex, but it has been a while since he’s been the one on the bottom and, “ _oh fuck.”_ Shiro’s fingers, long and searching regain all their earlier confidence and they’re pressing into the wall of his body, close to the knot of nerves that are just a bit deeper and Lance has abandoned the fingers to tell Shiro, “ _more, more deeper, quickly.”_

Shiro is laughing, the notion slipping when Lance abandons metal, grabs flesh. He raises his legs to open himself wider, guiding Shiro to the spot a little further in. “More. Make me come.” 

The touches are light, teasing, not enough and Lance whimpers when the fingers, including the third that had been added, are removed. But then, the mattress dips and Lance feels something hot, something _bigger_ pressing against him and Lance is ready to scream _give it to me._  
He doesn’t have to tell him, because Shiro has lined himself up and now the tip, _oh the tip, it’s in, but no there’s more and— Did I just make that noise, oh wait, I don’t care he’s in, he’s in, ohmyfuckinggodheisin—_

“So tight, baby you’re tight,” Shiro groans, sliding in, not all the way, but he’s in enough Lance is practically mush beneath him. They still, waiting for muscles to contract and Lance is desperate for motions, friction, _movement,_ and his hands are on his dick, pumping without timing. Shiro holds one hand over and he helps Lance focus, driving the hand up and down in equal pattern.   
It’s not enough and Lance’s free hand finds his nipple, not aware he’s pinching it, telling Shiro he wants him, wants more, wants release, give it to me, give it to me—

Shiro gives it. A buck of the hips and Lance screams from the accuracy of dick on prostate. He’s tight, Shiro’s big, he’s filling him up and _it’s not enough, move, “move!”_  
Shiro does. They move together, Lance down when Shiro rides up. He’s bowling over the boy now, lips taking the nipple not being touched, on hand supporting him up, the other squeezing Lance’s dick because “not yet. Don’t cum just yet.” 

Lance can’t. He doesn’t want to.   
He just wants Shiro, this heat, this moment, this everything until the pressure is gone, the tension rides through him, to his groin, up out, splattering on Shiro’s stomach, who rides his own, dick still inside the Cuban who twitches, muscles shaking from the orgasm that ripped a cry from his lips. He didn’t even recognise his own voice, too focused on Shiro’s face, alight with a passion he has given this man, this god, this perfect, flawless gift to him this cold snowy night. 

“Wow,” they say together, and then they’re laughing, and Lance can’t stop. He’s giggling, trying to stifle it behind a hand. It doesn’t work, and Shiro tries to kiss him into silence, but they’re both laughing too hard, like something is funny.   
Lance is giddy from sex. Shiro, giddy too. 

The man pulls out, hand on the condom that collected his release, because he’s not stupid. _“Safe sex is great sex, better wear a latex,”_ as Pidge frequently reminds him. 

Lance just admires the man from the bed, smiling to himself at the ache of his lower back. But it’s a good ache. A fucking good ache that follows from a fucking good fucking. 

The release draws back that tiredness, and Lance wonders if he should fight it, the afterglow still his minds only focus. Then, it’s the wet cloth that drops on his stomach and Lance’s eyes open – _when did he close them_ – and he’s watching as Shiro wipes down his body, his arms, legs and between his thighs.   
His own body holds a sheen of damp from his own wash-down, the towel thrown to the hamper by the door as he returns to the bed, sliding under the cover, pulling them back and quickly pulling them over Lance, up to his torso, sliding so that they’re closer. 

Lance doesn’t… _go tense,_ but it’s this part that he thinks he’s been nervous about. 

Now here’s the thing with Lance.   
He _loves_ skin ship. _Loves_ it, _covets_ it, sometimes would prefer an entire night of cuddling in front of the TV rather than plenty of rounds in the bedroom. His partners, usually not as much as Lance.   
And Shiro, well, he’s nothing more than one night stand. So with the cuddling and the pillow talk that are about to follow, Lance knows, _oh god he knows he’s going to fall._

Fuck, Lance had already fallen when the man looked up at the sound of the bell. 

So, Lance scoots in beside Shiro, back to the man that hooks an arm over his stomach and pulls him closer. “Is this okay?” he asks. “Yeah, it’s good.” _It’s good, it’s great, it’s perfect._

But the smile Lance wears is pained, and he falls asleep in the same place he has a thousand times: In the arms of someone who he will grow to love, but knows he won’t love him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Is it just me, or does Shiro not know Lance's name.  
> But I'm sure Matt at least knew who he was...


	4. Morning Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the morning after the night before, and Shiro wakes up first.  
> Keith is waiting for an explanation.

**Saturday 4th November**

Shiro feels his brain slowly emerge from sleep, a pain in his right arm. He’s not sure why, head heavy from where it’s still in dreamland, before catching sight of his prosthetic still on. _Shit,_ he forgot to take it off.   
Then, as sleep recedes and awareness dawns, he remembers why. 

There’s someone in his bed with him.   
Curled up against him, chests flush together as their head lays on his left arm, face in the nook of his neck, light fluttering of breath teasing his neck and ear. 

Shiro blushes, wiping his face with his right hand, groaning slightly from the ache because of the extended use of his fake arm. He had made a conscious decision to keep it on, as not to freak out the kid h slept with, having had a fair few bed partners tell him it freaked them out that waking up with only one arm was weird.   
But they never gave thought to Shiro; he’s the one that’s only got one arm. 

Shiro is still as bright as a stoplight when he climbs from the bed, moving painstakingly slow as not to wake the other, still admiring his natural beauty, sleep-mussed hair and the cow-lick that shows when the boy rolls into Shiro’s space, arms finding a pillow and wrapping his arms around it. 

The man pulls the covers up, finds himself a clean pair of underwear, pulls them on and finds a pair of joggers he wore the day before when training. They’re clean enough so he climbs in, stomach calling for food, brain for caffeine. A quiet morning after a night of sex isn’t in the books however, as Shiro saunters down the stairs, sex-drunk, to the second floor, to find it already occupied. 

“Nice night?” Keith asks from his place at the breakfast bar, halfway through leftover Chinese takeaway.   
Shiro blushes, but he’s not about to deny he’s had a fucking fantastic night, and lets the smug grin sit heavy on his features.   
“I don’t want to hear the details,” Keith growls, prodding his chopsticks in Shiro’s direction, glowering at the idea his big brother is going to gloat about the ass he just claimed. “But when did you start picking up dates in the coffee shop. I thought one night stands were my thing, and you had a strict rule about not letting your bed partners know where you live after that one chick—.”  
“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro grumbles, reminded again of a bad memory. Let’s just say girls can go nuts and complete stalker on anyone’s ass, even Shiro’s who had only bought her a drink and told her she looked pretty. 

The taller glances over his shoulder, making sure his bed partner can’t hear him, before heading to the fridge to make a start on his own morning meal. “I don’t usually, and I definitely wouldn’t normally, but he’s…”   
Shiro bit his lip, trying to make himself busy, hoping Keith would figure it out on his own. It’s not like he really wants to confess that he’s just scored a pretty big goal, and wow, he really did just bed the kid after their first meeting. 

“Hang on,” Keith said, and yeah, by his tone he’s made the jump from _‘Shiro’s first one night stand’_ to the fact this is the first time Shiro’s ever brought anyone back home, and not to a nearby hotel or something. 

“Oh shit, that’s… that’s _him,_ isn’t it. That’s the kid you’re totally gooey eyes over.” Keith’s grinning, the motion widening when Shiro bites a quick, “shush be quiet, he might wake up any second.”   
“Oh my god, it _is!_ Shiro, seriously,” Keith guffaws, choking on a noodles when his brother takes the seat opposite him, drowning his cereal in too much milk.   
“Last night was the first time you talk to him and you could barely keep your hands off him.” 

There’s a pause for a moment before Keith asks, “so, did you learn his name yet?”  
By Shiro’s blush, and adamancy on eating his breakfast to occupy his mouth, Keith figures out it’s a ‘no.’ 

“Well, you’re useless,” the youngest brother says. “A year of crushing on this kid and the first time you speak, instead of asking his name, his number and inviting him on a date, you drag him to your bed and deflower him.”   
“I don’t think he was a virgin.”   
“Well not anymore.” 

“No not like that, I mean before last night too. Because last night he was really… provocative and well, _ridiculously sexy,_ and oh my god, wow he’s literally the best fuck—”   
“Woah, hold on right there, I _do not_ want to know the details.”   
Shiro didn’t mean to say it, but he had and Keith is covering a hand that almost brought back up his food. “Gross. Now I’ve got the image of you fucking his brains out in my head. It’s putting me off my noodles.” 

Keith’s being loud and it has Shiro staring at the stairs, listening out for the other to wake up. 

“You’ve screwed up you know. You can’t ask him for his name now. Not if you plan for this… _relationship_ to keep going—,”  
“Then you ask him,” Shiro says. He’s asking, eyes wide, full of a hope that he’s not going to bumble the morning after with, _“hi, you were a good fuck, and by the way, what’s your name.”_

“And if I say no?” Keith asks, hiding a grin behind a scowl. “Oh come on Keith please,” Shiro says. “You know I’m no good at this, I was surprised I managed to play it cool last night and something worked because look where he is now.”   
“In your bed, spent from a long night of fucking a stranger. Yeah, he’s definitely not a virgin.”   
“Don’t,” Shiro growls, scowling because that’s a thought he _doesn’t_ want. That kid, that _beautiful boy_ had been _his_ last night, and he wants him more than just a one night stand. But thinking about him being someone else’s makes Shiro angry, guilty too because he’s only the subject of a one sided crush. 

Shiro had seen him first.   
It was a month after getting state side, still down from the therapy meetings following his dismissal from the armed forces. It wasn’t like he could fight properly with one arm, and the payout was decent; it bought him a café and the apartment that came with it. 

Well, Shiro was heading to the city hall to finalise paperwork and all that when the idiot dropped his bus ticket down the drain. Stupid and ditsy, but that push had made Shiro want to go home and give up on everything. The entire world was out to get him after all; five years fighting a war straight out of Uni, and a month before leave he’d been blown up in an ambush, luckily the only on injured, but that’s beside the point. 

Anyway, it was the boy who saw Shiro drop his ticket, crumple into a heap because “ _that’s it I give up,”_ and it was the boy who bought him another ticket, not that Shiro didn’t have the money on him or anything.   
The boy thanked Shiro for his service, said he could at least help Shiro out, because his older brother was in the armed forces too, and he’d like to think others would do it for him.   
The boy had told him to keep smiling, tomorrow is a new day, it will be easier tomorrow. 

Shiro never thought he’d see the boy again. 

_False._

Shiro saw the boy every day since; six in the morning walking into town, eight at night walking away from it. Sometimes looking blissfully unaware as he hid himself under a beanie and bright blue headphones, or sad and quiet, a slow pace as he kicked at the pavement, scuffing his feet as if dreading arriving at his destination. 

Shiro had never known where he went every day, but found out one time when Allura had a flat and she had to get to hospital for her dad, “ _please can I have a lift Shiro, I know you’re at work but you’re the only one with a car.”_ She’d been crying, but that wasn’t the reason Shiro agreed. He agreed because he was a good friend, and Alfor had helped him out too, putting him in contact with decent, trustworthy suppliers, spreading the word about this cool, off beat café that has cats milling around. 

Allura had been sat in the University car park waiting. And there, among the throng of students milling about for lunch, Shiro had seen the kid that paid for his bus fare. Grey high tops, blue skinnies and a navy blazer over his quote T, he looked just as cute as always.   
Allura had seen Shiro staring. _“You know him?”  
“No. Wish I did though.” _

There was teasing on the girl’s behalf, but nothing more. She didn’t know Shiro still saw him every morning.   
She didn’t know that Shiro saw him working the cash point on the nearby McDonalds drive-thru. 

Pidge did though. They’d been sat shot-gun, thumbing their phone, talking about the stress of a fast track college course even though they were fourteen. Little shit was smart, too smart for their own good when that very familiar voice came out the intercom. Oh, and when Shiro stumbled with contactless credit card, muttering a quick thank you and stalling his truck when he made to drive away.   
Oh yeah, Pidge was too smart for their own good. 

_“He was cute.”  
“Shut up Katie.” _

Pidge had scowled at their given name and knew Shiro wasn’t up for being teased. But why, over a boy at the drive-thru? Unless, wait a second, _“is that the boy Matt says you’ve been watching go to University each morning? Oh my god, stalker much?”  
“I’m not stalking him Pidge, I didn’t even know he worked here. Now it means I can’t come here again.”   
“Or, you know, you can. Just next time you hand over the money, give him your number as well.” _

Yeah, so Shiro actually tried that. But, he’d never caught the boy working there on the many different days he tried. So, mission aborted, and it was back to the odd glimpse of him walking on the other side of the street. 

He’d seen the kid around other times. Once on the same bus when Shiro came back from the physiotherapist when the truck was in for MOT. Once, walking down the street when Shiro was taking Blu for a vet visit. A few times when Matt, Allura and Pidge wanted a lift from Uni.  
That time everyone went out for Keith’s nineteenth and the boy was at another table with friends or family. 

So, yeah, Shiro had seen the boy in a few places and it hadn’t taken his friends long to realise that, _“Shiro just go ask for her number, come on you are single, it’s not like… hey, wait do you… like… someone. Is that the reason you’re keeping yourself off the market?”  
“Yeah, Matt, didn’t you hear about the boy at the Drive-thru?”   
“No, what?”  
“Drive-thru? Is this the same one who comes to University with us?”  
“Wait, he goes to University with us?”   
“Yeah, if I’m right, he’s in Nyma’s lectures. But I’m not quite sure…” _

They’re suspicions were concreted by Keith, who complained loudly about Shiro’s constant fawning every time the boy wore something cute, or sleeveless t-shirts or, _“oh my god that one time, the_ onetime _the kid decides to wear shorts, I think Shiro practically had a heart attack and hid in the back for a full hour. Made me work the shop floor even though I_ told you _I had designs to finish up.”_

Shiro didn’t mind his friends knowing, but he was worried what they would do. Needless to say, they didn’t sit on their hands.   
Matt played detective whilst Allura played best friend with Nyma to get some information on the kid who caught Shiro’s eye. Nyma wasn’t helpful, and Matt refused to give up the boy’s name, leaving Shiro right back at square one. 

And maybe, right now, Shiro still was.   
Because that cute kid he’s been watching for a year now, even though they’ve just spent the night having mind blowing sex and _oh god that boy is beautiful, and that boy is laid in my bed, asleep,_ because _we’ve just spent a night screwing and…_

Shiro still doesn’t know his name.   
Shiro took the kid to bed, playing the cool, calm, collected play boy that got a night with the cute brunet all his friends are talking about. But it’s like a one night stand. He’s treated it like a one night stand, and Shiro has just screwed up the entire order for starting out with dates and courting and wooing and…. _Ah shit._

Shiro doesn’t know the boy’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Shiro knows Lance, but he doesn't know his name...


	5. Bean There, Done That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance wakes up, dreading the awkwardness of the morning after.

**Saturday 4th November**

It’s kind of awkward to wake up in someone else’s bed for no one else to be in it with you. Lance hasn’t been kicked out, so last night couldn’t have been that bad, heck, Shiro had been the one to cuddle up to him and they’d fallen asleep like that.   
But the space where Shiro had laid down is empty save for a pillow Lance has claimed as filler for the space between his arms. 

He pushes himself up, hissing at the pain in his lower back, but there’s not much; Shiro was thorough when he stretched him out. Looking around, it’s clear the man isn’t here, but there is noise from out the door. Voices.   
Multiple. Which either means Shiro’s… _brother? Flatmate?_ Whoever. They’re back.   
Or, someone else is with Shiro. 

Which brings to light the question: can Lance leave the bedroom? Well, of course he can, but its more towards, does Shiro want him to leave the bedroom? Is this a secret thing?   
But then he thinks, _no it’s not._ If Shiro wanted it a secret, he would’ve said something last night about keeping quiet and heck, they’d scared Keith out the apartment so he wouldn’t have to hear them doing the do. 

Memories make Lance blush.   
_Oh god,_ he had been so needy last night, not acting like himself as he shook his hips and acted like a lewd harlot only there for sex. Which, okay was kind of true. _Kind of._  
It wasn’t like Lance had gone to the café for sex; he’d jumped inside to get out the snow. Then, his head had decided to spend the next half an hour replaying fantasies of that gorgeous barista bending him backwards over the bar and fucking him senseless. Which had, pretty much happened, although, it’s in the hot guy’s bed, not in the café. 

Minutes tick by, and Lance is beginning to get bored.   
Worried too, and a little unsure if it’s rude for him to be lying in this long. There’s no alarm clock, nor clock of any kind so Lance has no clue to the time, but he’s guessing it’s about nine. No reason: he’s just guessing. 

Anyway, he thinks he’s been awake for a good half hour now, and no one has come up to kick him out, so Lance climbs from the bed, pulls on his clothes and makes the bed. His phone is on the floor, having fallen out during last night – _cue more blushing_ – but the thing is dead.   
Lance groans, wiping a hand over his face to help rid the sleepiness, cringing from the feeling of it being unwashed and slightly greasy. _Gross._

There’s a bathroom just out the door though, and Lance is quick to douse his face in clean water, just enough to get rid of the dirty feeling. A flush of the toilet should be enough warning to those downstairs that Lance is up and awake now. No one rushes the stairs to hide him, so Lance makes his way down, into the warmth of a sunlit apartment.   
Oak floors run from the bottom of the steps around to the kitchen, where a line of transition strip separates the kitchen tiles; off-set cream to match the living room sofas and the cream rugs that offer warmth for the barefooted. 

Lance lets out a low whistle at the huge TV, the surround set speakers and the sheer… _finesse_ of the living space he hadn’t been able to get a good look at last night.   
Nice. 

“Glad you like it,” says a voice and Lance looks over to the two men sat at the dining table, idly chatting in their lazy day get up. Shiro is rocking just his underwear and Lance isn’t shy about staring at his body, glowing in the morning sun that pours in through the Velux windows sitting above the kitchen work surface. 

“Morning,” the other says, pulling Lance’s eyes off Shiro’s body, over to him. It’s the brother, flatmate person, looking practically normal apart from the mullet, although it’s pulled back into a ponytail rather than fluffy and unkempt around his face.   
“Morning,” Lance says, taking it as an invitation to move closer. “Sorry I slept in, I was pretty tired.”   
“I’m not surprised,” Shiro says with a smirk that does have Lance embarrassed, blushing at his toes. “Nope, nope, no, no you’re not doing that with me sat right here,” Mullet says with a growl, swatting at Shiro with his hand. “Stop flirting and go take a shower.” Shiro makes to open his mouth but Mullet speaks first. 

_“Alone.”_

Shiro is still chuckling as he slips by Lance. “Grab yourself some food. And don’t worry about my brother, he won’t bite. Not like me,” he says quietly, before slipping up the stairs, giving Lance a whole load of eye candy because Shiro is still only wearing black boxers and joggers that, although aren’t tight to show off his legs, they’re loose on his hips and Lance can see the line of his spine dipping underneath the waist band. _Shit, he is so hot. And Lance is so lucky he had the man pounding him last night._

“Ah, um, what’s the time?” Lance asks, trying not to rock on his heels. This kid, definitely his age, isn’t as menacing when he’s sat there in fluffy space pyjamas and a Spiderman shirt compared to last night when he looked fresh off the stage, minus the Marceline Axe Bass.   
Yet, it’s still kind of awkward because, _I’ve just spent the night screwing the hottie that’s upstairs having a shower and— oh god, he’s upstairs having a shower totally naked and…_ Yep, Lance just made this so much more awkward. 

Mullet raises an eyebrow, but it looks like he’s not aware of just what the idea of a showering Shiro is doing to Lance’s groin.   
“It’s just gone eight. Why? Do you need to be somewhere?”  
“Wha— no, no I was just checking cus there’s no clock in Shiro’s room,” Lance says, feeling like this kid is warning him not to scarper whilst big brother is in the shower. “Then sit down. I’ll make food.” 

Lance has no other choice than to take one of the chairs tucked in, pulling out his phone, grimacing at the _No battery_ light flashing at him at another attempt to turn it on. “Everything alright?” Mullet asks, trying to make conversation. He’s pulling random stuff out the food and Lance would watch him if it’s not weird, but he’s still scowling at his phone that is dead. “No charge. I was going to text my flatmate,” he says, waving a hand and Mullet just nods. “I’ve got an Ipad, so let me finish here and I’ll grab it for you.”  
“Ah, sure, thanks.” 

It’s a little awkward just sat there, so Lance asks if he can help with anything. The other glances over his shoulder, his eyes doing that really awkward sweeping thing.   
“If you don’t mind, you could make coffee. Or tea if you prefer that, but we only have Earl Grey. Allura’s a stickler for that perfume shit but none of us touch it. Cream is in the fridge if you prefer that to milk. Sugar is in the tub on the shelf.” 

Lance sets to work, humming to himself to make up for the lack of music and conversation between boys. It could be more awkward, but actually, it’s not, and Lance is pretty happy. It’s been a while since he’s been calm in anyone’s presence, other than Hunk and close friends at school.   
He’s on decent terms with Rolo and Dale; the boys he shares an apartment with, but Rolo is a little edgy and Dale’s party nights are usually down at Glow where there are drugs and fights nightly. It’s a wonder how he’s still passing his Uni course, but then, Dale also has a really hot body and enough charisma he’s got the numbers of all the girls in class that act like tutors. Before sex of course. 

“Um, hey,” Lance says, because he’s an idiot and he’s forgot the other guy’s name. “Do you have sugar in your coffee or, ah, _um….”_  
“Keith.”  
“Huh?”   
“The names’ Keith.”   
“Oh right, sorry. I’m Lance.” 

_Smooth._

“I have mine without milk, two sugars. Shiro has too much milk, no sugar,” Keith says, nudging to a cupboard with a foot. “Mugs are in there. We’re not picky about using specific ones so pick whichever one.” 

Lance bends down beside Keith, opening the door to an array of different mugs, like a treasure trove of different styles. “Oh that’s wicked,” Lance says, grinning as he grabs one that is in the shape of a semi-circle, a little extra sleeve on the side with the words _“biscuit pocket”_ printed on it. Then he grabs a cute owl one with feet, and a tall, large one painted like a galaxy. 

“Where did you get these from?” Lance asks, moving back to the cupboard once the coffee has been made, to shift through all the different designs. There are Star Wars quotes, funny coffee jokes, animal mugs, weird shaped ones and a few from different fandoms.  
“Shiro and I used to travel a bit, and sometimes I do for work so they’re from all over. That one,” he says nodding to the one that Lance holds; a cup on tripod stilts, “is from London when he went on exchange with school. Met Allura over there, and they kept in contact. She came over two years ago to attend University.”   
He started grumbling about Earl Grey again, and deciding to change the subject, lifted the frying pan that he had on the stove. 

“How many pancakes do you want?”   
“Oh, um, two?” 

Keith smiles. “We do have plenty of food. You don’t have to hold back. And cut the whole standing-on-ceremony crap, you don’t have to be so nervous around me.”   
Lance pouts. “I’m not nervous.”  
“No?”  
“No.” 

“Good, then you can lay the table. Knives and forks are here, plates are in the cupboard next to you. Oh, and grab the lemon out the fridge.” Keith started to boss Lance about like a maid, but it was all light hearted and Lance was happy to comply, thankful it wasn’t so awkward anymore. 

Shiro was taking a while in the shower, and to save the pancakes getting cold, Keith and Lance started on their own, making conversation, taking it in turns to eat while the other cooked.   
They talk about random things, starting with places Keith has visited, for holiday and such, then on about his work which sometimes takes him to different cities. He’s an interior designer as well as graphic design artist so, although his main workplace is his study on the second floor, he goes out to meet clients, and recently has come back from Florida after having procured a deal in designing a hotel resort’s foyer and the colour schemes for their rooms.   
It was mainly online bartering, but Keith was fed up of miscommunication and flew out there for a few days so the building companies’ design team didn’t fuck with his plans. 

“And you didn’t bring back a mug?”   
“To be honest, work was stressing me out and I just wanted to come home.”   
“Understandable.” 

Lance was particularly interested about the beach resort though, telling Keith about his home back in Cuba, and the beaches he practically lived on. They talked about surfing, how Keith wants to learn so that beach days aren’t just spent swimming and sunbathing, how Lance knew and told him about a few decent beaches, and a mate whose family house backs onto their own private beach.   
“His dad is a surf instructor and I spend summer days teaching the kids to surf. You guys should totally come by one day, it would be cool.”   
Which set off plenty of fantasies in Lance’s head of teaching Shiro how to ride a board before plenty of beach sex and sunbathing together. _Nothing more than fantasies._

Pretty soon though, Keith brought his attention back to more… real things. 

“You know, I’m not against the whole one night stand, but you must’ve left an impression on Shiro, because, if I’m right in thinking, you only met last night,” Keith said, cooking up Lance’s fourth pancake. He watches him from the stove wearing a knowing smirk, the notion widening when Lance ducks behind his hands. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. “So it _was_ the first time you guys met?”   
Lance nods, listening to Keith whistle. “ _Damn._ I mean, I _know_ my brother is a real charmer and what not, but it doesn’t usually get him results _this_ fast.” 

The words aren’t meant to be mean, and they’re not. But they serve as a reminder to Lance, that this is just a one night stand and Shiro is really good and playing host, even in the morning after. It’s probably why Keith is so chill with him; he’s done this meet-the-partner game a few times. _More than a few._

“Yeah,” Lance laughed nervously. “I was getting out the snow and it led to having sex.” 

“Well as most nights go, it can’t have been a bad one,” and Lance practically stumbles out his chair as Shiro re-enters the kitchen, full dressed, hair still damp from his shower. “Ah no, it was good,” he garbled, pulling himself off the floor. “Just good?”   
“No, it was more and I….” Lance dies a little on the inside but he’s save by Keith who threatens to hit Shiro with the spatula. “Oi, pancakes. You cook them. I’m going up stairs to get my charger and when I come down, you both better still have your clothes on. No hanky-panky when I’m in the house, you know the rules.”   
_Oh so there are rules now. Yeah, Shiro is a seasoned veteran at picking up partners._

Lance wishes the floor can swallow him up and spit him out on his bed with no memories. Even if last night was _amazing._

Keith is gone and back before Lance’s blush can die down, handing over the Ipad charger with a “here you go Lance, use the spare socket in the kitchen.” If Shiro is grinning as he watches the boy’s, Lance doesn’t notice, thanking Keith before the other heads to the living room.  
Now Lance is stood by Shiro at the stove, using the only spare power outlet so he can charge up and text Dale that he’s heading back later, will swing by the shops so if he wants something to message him.   
He gets a quick reply of _‘sure mate gimme a sec, and Rolo says can you cover his shift tonight.’_  
Lance groans but agrees, asking for the details. 

“Lance, you okay?” Shiro asks, using up the remainder of the pancake batter for his own breakfast and, _oh god,_ Lance must’ve forgotten the feeling of this man calling his name because he practically _melts_ as the word rolls of Shiro’s tongue. He doesn’t let on what that does to him, or his brain, trying not to ruin a decent morning mood.   
“Yeah it’s just a shift change,” the Cuban muttered. Then cursed out loud when the text came back in reading _“8:30 till 12.”_  
 _“Fuck,_ that piece of shit Rolo, I bet he’s already told Jacob I’ll take his shift, that _bastard!_ Tonight? He’s got to be fucking with me!” 

Lance cards a hand through his hair. “Shiro, sorry, I’ve got to go. My mate swapped shifts and it starts in, _fuck, ten bloody minutes!”_ Oh, Lance was going to kill Rolo. 

Shiro watches him, aware that Lance is actually beginning to freak slightly. “Hey, calm down. Do you want a lift? I’ve got to go to the vets anyway so I can—”  
“Can you?” Lance looks at him, hopeful, because Mama taught him, practically drilled into him, not to let people down, and he likes his job he doesn’t need a black mark against his name because Rolo’s trying to screw him over. Normally, he wouldn’t take the offer because that’s an inconvenience on Shiro’s behalf, but Shiro’s going that way and he’s desperate. 

“Yeah, just give me a second to grab Blu and we’ll go. Your shoes are by the back door and your bag is in the cleaning cupboard. Just watch it when you go down, the cat’s will want their food.”   
Lance thanks him again, pulling his phone from the charge and slipping it into his jeans pocket. Shiro scarves down his last pancake, not bothering with the toppings, grabs a set of keys off the hooks near the stairs, asking Keith, who has been sat on the sofa watching the morning news, to feed the cats and clean up. There’s cursing from the Mullet’s end, but he agrees and both men are out of the café and around the back in under five minutes. 

“Thanks for this,” Lance says, texting copious amounts of swear words to Rolo, who’s probably passed out after a night of drinking. “I’ll pay you back somehow, um, I don’t know…” he says, not sure what he could do, but Shiro grins. “It’s no trouble. But I… um,” and it’s awkward for a moment before Shiro breathes out a sigh. 

“Look, last night was great, you were great and I don’t usually do that sort of thing. One night things,” he adds looking at the confused expression on the Cuban’s face. “But it was good. Like, _seriously good._ And if you’re… I don’t know… _up for it again?”_ The last part is small and uncertain, and Shiro coughs to distract himself, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as the truck laps into silence. 

It’s all in Lance’s hands, but he’s quite surprised that, _is Shiro proposing what I think he is?_  
But no, Lance realises, remembering what Keith had said. This is just a compatibility found and Shiro has said nothing about dating. He’s glossed over the whole, “ _not usually do this,”_ but Lance associates that with, continuing to hook up for sex after a one night stand. Which has to make Lance a little special. _Right?_

The one thing Lance knows, is the man wants him, wants his body at least and although it is unhealthy to accept the proposal, Lance finds he can’t fight the deep hope inside him that, accepting might lead to feelings later on. 

So with that thought, he looks out the window, unable to stop the smile that pulls his lips up.   
“Yeah, it was good. And, yeah, I don’t mind doing it again.”


	6. Starting From The Ground Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins with a few exchanged text messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut in this one. That comes next chapter.

**Saturday 4th November**

It’s Shiro who texts first. And sooner than Lance expected.   
Two hours after dropping the boy off to be precise, although with his phone in his bag, Lance didn’t read it till quarter past twelve when he had finished the short shift working the cash point. 

Saturdays were hell in the fast food joint, but it wasn’t all bad. Jacob realised pretty quickly Rolo had pulled a fast one on Lance and gave the boy paid holiday for his next shift, unable to do much else because of head management and shit. But Jacob was cool for even helping Lance out like that and the boy didn’t mind the sudden rush to work on a day he was mean to be doing course work. Ah _shit._

At the end of the shift, Hunk gave him a lift back to his apartment, and Lance couldn’t help but brag about his night out; however he saved Hunk from the glorious details. The story, nether less earned him a “ _Be safe”_ lecture and a whap to the head when Lance replied with a _“yes mom.”_ But Lance knew Hunk was looking out for him.   
“Honestly Hunk, I think he’s a genuine guy. It was just right place right time last night. We must’ve both been horny—”  
“Nope not listening,” Hunk groaned, trying to bury his head in his shoulders, unable to take hands off the wheel to clamp them over his ears. 

“No Hunk, listen to this.” And he read aloud the text from Shiro that read:

_[From: Unknown Number – 9:32]_  
Hey Lance, just checking you got to work fine.   
Here’s my number by the way, feel free to text me whenever. 

Well, Hunk didn’t see anything wrong with it. “But my point still stands Lance. It’s not too bad that you met his brother, and those people came in so it wasn’t like you were totally alone—” _Lance had omitted that fact Keith left shortly after the bedroom door closed,_ “—but please watch yourself. I don’t want you getting mixed up in anything like last time.”  
“Don’t worry dude. I’m never spending a night out with Dale again.” Lance shuddered at the memory of his night at Glow. Let’s just say too much drink, the wrong type of crowd and Lance had almost lost his V-card down some shady alley. 

Hunk rolled his eyes when Lance fingered out a reply, humming as he tried to figure out the best way to word a simply reply.   
Apparently the Lance way; long winded and with too many emojis. 

_[Message Sent – 12:26]  
Nah I was good. :):):):):):) Managed to get to work with plenty of time to spare.   
Manager dude realised my mate made a dick move with making me cover him on such short notice. _ (눈_눈)  
 _Welp, it got me some paid holiday, so it’s not like I’m complaining TOO much :) ;)_

_[Message Sent – 12:26]  
Anyways, thanks again and let me know how I can repay you for the lift.  
You really saved my bacon today. _  
☆ ～('▽^人).

“So what now?” Hunk asks, not looking at his friend, eyes on the road but he’s aware of the constant reading of the two texts Lance has literally _just_ sent and Shiro isn’t going to reply straight— _Ding!_  
…away. 

_[From: Unknown Number – 12:28]  
Good, I’m glad you weren’t late, and I didn’t mind taking you, Blu had the vets and it was on the way. _

Hunk rolls his eyes. “He better not have invited you around again.”   
“What? No! Shiro is a _gentleman,”_ Lance said adamantly, sending a smiley face before clicking onto his chat with Dale to check the shopping list he’s been sent, when suddenly the phone vibrates again and the _unknown number_ message box at the top of his phone screen pulls down with another message. It can only be from Shiro. 

_[From: Unknown Number – 12:29]  
And if you’re so keen to pay me back, I’m sure I can think of something ;) _

“Was that him?”  
“No _mom,_ that was Dale telling me he wants peanut butter cookies. Mind dropping me off in front of the shop?” Because Hunk would worry if Lance says, “ _yes it’s Shiro, he’s just asked for another few rounds in the bedroom.”_  
Lance doesn’t tell him because he doesn’t want the big guy to worry. 

Hunk drops Lance off outside the supermarket, promising to see him at Uni on Monday. It’s a half hour shopping trip with Lance racking up a decent bill at the end of it, although he made a point of ignoring everything Rolo requested. Revenge for the mad rush this morning and ending his time with Shiro who, he was really getting to like as they continued their conversation whilst Lance perused the aisles. It was him who was the distraction, extending Lance’s time in the shops. 

_[Message Sent – 13:05]  
How’s Blu? Was it just a regular check up or what??? _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:07]  
Blu is fine but she’s been off her food a little. I just wanted to take her in and try and catch anything before it’s too major and check it’s not a bug that the rest can catch. _

Even when Lance gets home, they keep it up, but there’s no pressure to keep the conversation going and it’s smooth. They talk a little about Lance’s job and where he used to work, including the beach huts and coffee houses along the Varadero Strip. 

_[Message Sent – 13:40]  
Oh, and summer I go to California with Hunk – he’s my best mate – and we spend the summer in his Dad’s house. He has his own private beach which he runs a surf school at and I help him. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:40]  
You know how to surf? _

_[Message Sent – 13:40]  
Yeah, my brother taught me back when we all lived in Via Blanca. I told Keith that we should go and I’d teach him how to surf. He said he wanted to know and going to CA would’ve been better if he knew how to. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:43]  
You guys became friends real quick. _

_[Message Sent – 13:45]  
Well SOMEONE left me in the kitchen to make small talk. It would be more awkward if I said nothing and didn’t talk to him. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:45]  
Yeah, sorry about that. But it’s cool though. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:45]_  
I mean, you and him.   
Because he was kind of curious.   
About you. 

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:45]  
Not that I meant to leave you guys alone, but you know. _

_[Message Sent – 13:46]  
Hey, it’s okay, I get it. To be honest, I’m a shit to Dale and Rolo when they bring girls over so I know where Keith’s coming from. _

_[Message Sent – 13:46]  
It’s funny though, seeing him like that. He’s a lot less scarier than last night. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:46]  
Scary? _

_[Message Sent – 13:47]  
OMG Shiro did you not see him? Black clothes, out of date mullet, leather threads. He looks more emo than Ashley Purdy and that’s saying something. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:48]  
So I just googled Ashley Purdy, and I can say, I can see where you’re coming from. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 13:49]  
But Keith says he’s way cooler. _

_[Message Sent – 13:49]_  
OMG Shiro you did NOT tell Keith I thought he was MoreEmoAshleyPurdyTM  
What are you going to do if he tries to kill me?   
\\(º □ º |||)/

_[Message Sent – 14:03]  
Your lack of response scares me. Please tell me he’s not heading here to kill me. _

_[Message Sent – 14:05]  
Wait, I don’t think he knows where I live. _

_[Message Sent – 14:05]  
OH GOD DOES HE KNOW WHERE I LIVE??? _ \\(º □ º |||)/

_[From: Hot Stuff – 14:05]_  
Sorry, sorry just had a few customers in the shop.   
But you’re safe from Keith.   
He promises not to kill you. 

_[Message Sent – 14:05]  
Oh, that’s cool. I’ll let you get back to work.   
Have fun_ \\(^ヮ^)/  
 _And tell Keith thanks for not killing me_

Lance smiled to himself as he set off for home.   
He unpacked the shopping when he got in, not surprised to find Rolo passed out on the couch, fully dressed. It wasn’t like he was being mean, but— _nope, yeah,_ Lance was being mean as he moved about the kitchen, making as much noise as possible to wake his flatmate. Serves him right for getting _totally gazeboed_ the night before a morning shift at work.   
At least it makes Lance feel a little better when Rolo grumbles about the noise making his hangover worse, and he saunters off to his room for some _“proper shut eye.”_

It frees up the couch and allowing Lance to binge watch Disney movies for the rest of the day, skimming through his notes on the recent media studies. He likes the colours in some art pieces and jots down the colour scheme in the margin, trying to focus on Mulan so he can get inspired to draw something.   
It’s not that he wants to be an artist, his sights remain on Video Game design and graphic art like Keith was talking about. It would’ve been a good subject for the pair to commune on, but Lance felt like he’d be crossing a line; the atmosphere was still tense enough that he didn’t think he could get too personal.   
Well, he screwed that up with his stories from home and the brother’s family trips around the world. 

Still, the morning after the night before hadn’t been too bad, and Lance was smiling as he began still life sketches of humans with different media prosthetics.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Wednesday 8th November**

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 05:21]_  
Morning Shiro, sorry to bug you but did I leave my coat at your place? I can’t find it.   
If not I’ve left it at work, but I was just wondering…. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious– 05:24]  
Oh shit, I’ve just realised how early it is I hope I haven’t woke you! _ (×_×)

_[Message Sent – 05:28]  
Sorry I haven’t seen your coat. Did you have it in the car? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 05:28]  
Oh god, I woke you up didn’t I. So sorry! _ (>_<)  
 _And it’s cool, I probably left the thing at work._

_[Message Sent – 05:29]  
No you didn’t wake me. I usually am up this early to open shop, but Wednesdays for me mean a lie-in. _

_[Message Sent – 05:29]_  
But it’s a shame your coat isn’t here.   
Would’ve given you an excuse to come round sooner ;) 

Shiro stared at the text box, frowning. Internally, he was beating himself up, watching the three little dots appear as Lance began typing. Then they stopped. Then they appeared. And stopped. 

Yeah, he’d been too forward. Crappy fucker was trying to play it smooth and he wasn’t sure on the right approach. Shiro had fumbled his, _“hey I kind of like you, more than you realise, fancy swinging by again sometime for coffee or a bite to eat.”_ Instead, he’d proposed a date like he was only after Lance’s ass, the ‘only’ being a loose term here.   
Well, Shiro must’ve done _something_ right because he’s got Lance’s number and there was an affirmation that, _“Yeah I don’t mind doing it again,”_ and they’ve been swapping texts the past couple of days. Nothing with too much weight, but Shiro’s learnt that Lance isn’t’ overly keen on his roommate Rolo and when he draws – _something else Shiro learnt_ – he completely zones out, so texts aren’t ignored, they’re just not noticed for a bit. 

So, sex is on the table. _Not on the table, you dirty minded pervert,_ sex is in the cards and the cards are on the table and… 

Shiro drops his phone, rolling over on his side wishing that he didn’t have to get out of bed today. But deliveries will be here in an hour; the café opening later on Wednesdays so that the orders can be sorted and put away. It’s not like Shiro can’t afford to take a day off, but it’ll become the start of a bad habit, he knows it and that’s not a thing he’s willing to lapse into. 

Leaving his mobile buried in the duvet, Shiro rolls out the bed, swiping up his arm from the dresser as he goes, then decides against it in favour of a shower first. Then the arm is on, clothes on and Shiro’s head is still reliving the stupid text he sent Lance.   
The boy probably liked the smooth, cool collected playboy style he’d put on the other night; the same attitude he wears when he goes out just for a chance of being the old him, the _not damaged_ him who used to drink and party and be the play boy before the armed forces gave him a goal in life. 

Regret sits heavy on Shiro’s chest as he makes his way down to the café, opening the door to say good morning to the cats. Black saunters over, padding quietly for affection, taken into Shiro’s arms and on his shoulders where she loves to sit, whilst he moves about, filling bowls and giving a quick count of the felines to make sure no one had clawed their way inside the sofa again.   
Then come the deliveries and Keith comes down at half six to help him put the rest of it away, ready for open shop at seven. 

It would’ve been an okay day – not too cold, snow painting a winter wonderland out the window and the cats were pretty calm considering Matt was working. But that was just it.   
_Matt was working a midday shift._

“So…” Matt says, leaning on the broom, moving close to where Shiro is restocking the sandwich fridge, making a point of not looking at his best friend. He can’t tell him they can’t talk because the café is empty. That’s what happens when snow days and black ice scares customers away. 

“How was Friday night?” Matt asked, nudging Shiro’s arm.   
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Perhaps Shiro’s tone could’ve been softer, but he’s still freaked about the message he shouldn’t have sent from his mobile that is still wrapped in his duvet, having an extended lie-in. “Huh? What’s the matter? Pidge said…” Matt’s not teasing him anymore. He flops onto the sofa by the door, stroking Ginger idly, watching Shiro’s shoulders sag. 

“Keith and Pidge were together Friday. I assumed he was giving you and Lance space.”   
“See, I knew you knew his name,” Shiro growled, before abandoning his quest to cram all the sandwiches in the fridge. He joined Matt on the sofa, _he could, the café was empty so it wasn’t like he had anything more pressing to do_ sitting slowly because Black was still perched on his shoulders. 

“Yeah it was good.”   
“So what’s with the mopey, kicked-puppy ploy you’ve got going on? Wait, you did _do it,_ right?” Matt is answered with a nod, but before Shiro can tell him the sex was good, the follow up not so much, he’s running his mouth: “So what was the problem then? Not your arm? I mean, I know people can get funny about that sort of thing, but that’s just downright rude and from what Allura was saying about him, he seemed like a pretty cute kid, definitely not into that whole segregation shit for gender, race, shit like that…. Wait, did you get it up?”

“Any more questions like that and I’m not paying you this month,” Shiro growled, knocking the back of Matt’s head with his hand.   
“Sorry, sorry…. _But did you?”_

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Wednesday 8th November**

It’s four o’clock by the time Shiro calls it a day. He’s only had about twenty people in all day, and the constant breeze of cold air has got the cat’s backs up as well as his own. So the sign is flipped, door locked and the blinds down so Shiro doesn’t have to come deal with the fuss of locking up later on.   
He reached into his pocket to text Keith and tell him to come in the back way, but the damn thing is upstairs and Shiro feels heavier with every step up to his room. 

The mobile is where he’s left it, face down in the mess of an unmade bed. 

Shiro flopped beside it, one hand covering part of his face as he flicked the thumb print scanner to unlock it, eyes looking to the top of the screen for the tell-tale pop up.   
He’s had a few emails, app updates and at the end of the queue is the _“Unread Messages”_ notification. 

Shiro delays. He reads the emails first; there the receipt for the morning delivery, sale offers from suppliers and online newsletter announcements. There’s also a reminder for Friday’s appointment at the physio-centre, and the links to his bank account to check his online statements. 

The app updates are deleted and Shiro has already texted Keith to use the back door, so he clicks on Lance’s nickname he put in for himself, dreading what the six unread messages would entail. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 05:42]  
Okay, I’m glad I didn’t wake you. Sorry I didn’t think before I text you cus it’s snowing and I just had to get to Uni, I was in a bit of a flap because I hate being late. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 06:15]  
And, if you’re free tomorrow night I don’t have a shift at work, and I’ve practically finished all my projects. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 06:44]_  
Sorry if I took too long to say something.   
I was probably over thinking things, and now you’re at work. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 06:44]  
Sorry again._

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 07:12]  
So, Hunk had my coat. Apparently I left it in his car after he gave me a lift home. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 07:19]  
But if I’m going to need an excuse to come round, you can always hide my stuff next time ;) _

Lance’s own worry laid thick in the data lines and Shiro lets out a short laugh, rubbing his eyes because it seemed both of them had been fretting over nothing.   
They’re both new to this, or at least Shiro knows _he_ is, and it’s obvious Lance isn’t as confident as he makes out to be when he’s in the bedroom. 

Of course things are going to be rocky at some point. And maybe he can brush up on his flirting, but at the moment, he’s just going to have to let go and try not to get worked up about texts he should and shouldn’t send. 

_[Message Sent – 4:06]  
You don’t need an excuse to come round. I work at a coffee shop, so my front door is practically open every day ;) _

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Friday 17th November**

It’s the following Friday that Lance gets his second invite through text message. It comes in just a little after lunch, but the feeling of elation and perhaps a little horniness, keeps Lance on his toes right up until dinner. He’s in enough of a good mood he doesn’t mind cooking for everyone, even if most of the afternoon was spent yelling at Rolo to get his shit off the kitchen counter.  
If anything, cooking will give him something to do for an hour at least, because he can’t concentrate on his art, and trying to write about the media studies isn’t keeping his focus either.   
Neither is watching Friends re-runs, although he’s watched them enough times he can practically recite the show, line for line. 

“Off out somewhere?” Dale asks, emerging from his bedroom after cramming Biology again. And by that, Lance is referring to a little hands-on with the Biology tutor, Nyma’s friend called Olivia who has been here before.   
“No, why’d you say that?” Lance says, too quickly, wondering if it’s really that obvious. Dale raises an eyebrow, pointedly staring at the new threads that he’s yet to see Lance wear. “Oh, no reason.” 

They stand side by side in the kitchen, Dale helping cut up ingredients as he notices Lance almost rushing, constantly looking at the clock. It seemed he’s hit a snag with dinner, and time has crept up a little too quickly. 

“I can finish up if you need to go,” the older offers, not doing well at suppressing a grin as Lance yelps when the pot bubbles and nearly splatters his freshly ironed shirt in tomato sauce.   
“No, no, I’m good,” Lance mutters, eyeing the pot wearily. “I’ve got the time.”

“You going on a date?” Dale asks softly, eyes on Olivia who comes out his room, loosely wrapped in a blanket over a bra and a pair of his joggers. The girl takes a familiar place on the couch, flicking the TV on, and is happy with Lance’s Friends box set which sits paused on screen. She clicks play, filling the room with the noise of Joey and Chandler’s laughter, knowing to keep out of the conversation of the boys in the kitchen. 

“Something like that,” Lance says. He’s not really hiding it.   
Besides, Dale’s pretty in tune to these sorts of things. Even Lance’s sexual preferences, considering Dale is just like him. He’s even tried to introduce Lance to a few of his friends, but that just leads to three-some proposals and Lance isn’t really into that. 

What he wants is a lover who’s looking at him and only him. Someone who will treat him gentle and treat him right.   
So what is he doing with Shiro? Digging himself a grave apparently. 

But Lance is happy to sacrifice his feelings for the moments after sex in which the pair fall asleep holding one another. It’s bliss, it’s something Lance loves as much as the intimacy, and he’ll be there for Shiro until the man doesn’t need him anymore.  
Still, there’s hope for the future, but Lance is pointedly ignoring that. 

“So,” Dale asks, sliding closer to dump his minced ingredients in the large pot. Lance steps back before he can be splashed, getting out the way as Dale takes over cooking, following the instructions that lay open on Lance’s phone from the screenshot of a Pinterest recipe; a god send for students who need to save money, but want something tastier than pasta and cheese for meals. 

“Who is it? Someone I know?” Dale ushers Lance out the kitchen, over to the table so he doesn’t ruin his outfit. Lance dumps himself in one of the chairs, leaning his elbows on the work surface to keep his head propped up. “I don’t think you know them. They don’t go to Arus University, if that’s what you’re asking.”  
“A different Uni then? Or are they from out of town? Is it one of those online relationships? I _have_ noticed you on your phone a lot more.”   
At that, Lance’s phone dings from a text. Dale’s looking before Lance has a chance to grab it. 

_“’Hot stuff?’_ You know I’m going to want a picture now.”   
“I don’t have a picture, and we didn’t meet through social network sites,” Lance frowned, hoping it’s not going to be a rain check message. Instead, it’s just Shiro asking if Lance wants food. 

_[Message Sent – 18:09]  
Yeah I can eat. _\\(^ω^)/  
 _Or is this you asking for me to buy something on my way over?_

_[From: Hot Stuff – 18:10]  
No, I’ve got food here. Just checking that I’m cooking for two. _

“I can’t tell if it’s gross or not. You and that dopey-eye smile,” Dale says, nose scrunched up jokingly. “Just ‘cus I’m finally getting some.”   
“Hey, I’m not jealous.” The boy’s glance over to Olivia, but her attention remains solely on the TV screen. 

“You still haven’t told me which Uni they go to. Is it the one near the coast?” Dale’s turned back to the pot, but his questions continue. The boy is a whore for gossip, but he’s not so good on the subtle side when it comes to prodding and trying to get answers out of people.   
Lance doesn’t mind. It gives him a chance to boast. 

“They’ve finished University. They did go to Arus, like us, but now they’re working.”   
“Ooh, Lancey boy’s got himself a cougar.”   
“More like _Manther,”_ Lance corrects, flashing Dale a dirty smirk. “Buff, ripped and well-endowed.” 

Dale’s eyes go wide, and the grin on his face is nothing but pride, but Lance isn’t finished gushing. “He used to be in the army, so he’s got a fare few scars, but man, they only add to the hotness. And, it’s not like he’s old, he’s late twenties, so he’s still got plenty of petrol in the tank, but… _man.”_

The shits are grinning at each other, because Dale _does_ know exactly what Lance means. They’re partners in crime when it comes to gossiping about who they’d screw and who they’d let screw them. 

“How’d you land that sort of dude?”   
Lance just grins again. “Remember the other Friday when I was out, and Rolo had me cover his shift the next day?”   
“Yeah,” Dale says, knowing because he was there to witness Rolo getting roasted with a serious lecture from Jacob the Monday following because of it. “Well I met him that Friday. Sort of walked in when the place was empty and we both clicked the other one was like _“heyo, he’s horny”_ because he took me upstairs pretty quick after that.”   
“And he is who you’ve been going out to see these past nights.”   
“Not all of them. I am still studying with Hunk and Shay. But yeah, I’ve met up with him a few times now.”   
“In two weeks? Oh dude, _nice one._ Is he coming to pick you up, or you going out to meet him.” 

Lance looks down at his phone again, rereading the text that says: _come over when you’re ready. I close shop up at seven, so if you’re coming after, you’ll have to come round the back._  
“I’m going to his.” 

Then Lance is giving Dale instructions on how to finish the food, telling him to save him some for Sunday’s lunch. “Sunday? Today’s Friday.” Lance dropped another grin. “Yeah, I’m staying round tomorrow night too.”   
“You sly _dawg._ Well that explains the size of the overnight bag that is sat on your bed.”   
“You went in my _room?”_  
“I was looking for a phone charger. I think I left mine at Zoë’s place,” Dale said with a shrug. “Don’t let Olivia here you say that,” Lance laughed, but the girl is none the wiser. “So where’s my phone charger now.”   
“Still in my room, plugged in under my desk. Sorry I took it while you were out.”   
“Nah man, you’re good. I’m gonna steal it back though.”   
“Sure thing. There’s condoms in the top drawer if you need them.” 

Lance flipped Dale the bird before taking back his charger. He left Dale’s condoms, his own already safely tucked in his jeans pocket. Because hey, let’s face it, he and Shiro were… _sex friends? Friends with benefits?_ Maybe less of the friends and more of the benefit, but sex was the third course of tonight’s meal, and Lance was prepared.   
He’d already been round last Saturday and Friday before, and tonight he’d be staying till Sunday, so… _yeah._

Lance shook his head, suppressing a grin as the usual nerves squirmed in his stomach. They were always there when Lance was thinking about going to see Shiro. He’d felt them before, for others, and knew what they entailed.   
_Ignore them,_ he told himself, and that’s just what he did, grabbing the larger bag from his bed, grabbing his phone charger back from Dale and slipping out the door as Dale started singing a rendition of Kiko Bun’s ‘Can’t Hold Back.’


	7. Tea'se Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro never did give Lance that refresher course.  
> It’s a good thing Lance remembered…

**Friday 17th November**

The walk to _‘Cat’s Corner’_ took record time for Lance, but he wasn’t rushing or anything. Okay, _maybe a little,_ but he put that down to the brisk wind that was trying to get in under his layers of clothes. The new shirt was nice and all, but wasn’t something that should be worn in the Winter weather. 

Lance hadn’t thought about the cold weather when he pulled it out the back of this wardrobe. The last time he’d worn it was back in Summer, when he’d gone out with Hunk and his old man to a bar party in California. It was nice to wear then, but then they were on the beach, and the sun was out.  
The sun was out now, but the thing wasn’t offering much comfort through the thick cloud cover that sent a flurry of snow to cover the streets of the city. 

By the time Lance reached the café, he was out of breath and _freezing._  
Shiro was busy making coffee, looking dapper and just so damn cool in his uniform. Which wasn’t helping Lance’s dick stay down. Neither was the thoughts of _later._

Lance hide his desire behind his bag, but that disguise wouldn’t last long, when Shiro mouthed _“put it upstairs.”_ He did as Shiro said though, taking his bag and snow-covered coat up to the second floor. Coat in the boiler cupboard to dry off, and bag in Shiro’s bedroom, Lance was aware he was the only one up there.   
Keith was probably round Pidge’s place; his hideout whenever Lance came round. It wasn’t like the Cuban minded Keith being there, but that was his own set up with Shiro.   
Besides, that meant the pair didn’t have to hold anything back when they finally got to it. 

Not feeling comfortable enough to lounge on the sofa to Shiro came up, Lance headed back down to the shop floor, trying not to let Shiro captivate him as he made two more Cap-purr-ccinos. The cups sat snugly in the heft of his hand, the man as a whole moving gracefully, even if it was just making coffee.   
Lance was so deep in love he couldn’t stop staring if he tried. 

“That’s for you,” Shiro said, pulling Lance out of his daze, completely oblivious to Lance’s infatuation. He pushed a large Caramel Latte towards him, complete with the caramel chunks and whipped cream, even one of those biscuit, chocolate straw things.   
“Thanks,” Lance grins, sliding onto his regular seat. Blu was on the counter, and mewled a hello when he sat down, purring when he began to stroke her, making small talk with the main actor of his fantasies.   
“How was the walk over?”  
“Cold. Almost slipped on ice at the bottom of steps outside the apartment. That wouldn’t have been fun.” 

Conversation is light, broken by the odd customer that comes in for a few moments out the snow, but then they’re back to talking, but it’s got some sort of tension to it.   
Lance knows Shiro is just as eager for seven to roll round. They both keep glancing to the other patrons of the shop, all slow in drinking their drinks, idle as they play with the cats, trying to delay going out into the snow.   
Shiro shrugs an apology, but Lance doesn’t mind. It’s a part of work, and it’s not like he’ll personally kick the old ladies out the shop so he can get a dick up his ass sooner. 

A sudden large group of ladies, all laden with shopping bags, fill the shop. They’re not too loud, out of respect for the cats, but Shiro and Lance still share _that look_ that says it’s not going to be seven o’clock they shut up shop. 

It’s easier to wait if Lance isn’t breathing in Shiro’s musk, so he takes Blu to the sofas by the window. It’s a bit cold there, but with the large drink and his cat companions, it’s not so bad. 

Lance has been to the coffee shop enough times - _not all visits ending up with a trip to the bedroom -_ that the cats are familiar with him now, and he’s not surprised when more come up to settle next to him. Although Blue is _(secretly)_ his favourite, he enjoys the attention, greeting all of them with a quick rub down and plenty of cooing. 

Shiro had taught him all their names.   
There’s Black, who is, _funnily enough,_ black; nearly identical to the other black cat Socks, although he had three white socks except for his back right foot. Keith named him, earning a joking complaint about originality. Which was repeated when the three ginger cats were introduced as Ginger, O’Malley and Tiger. Lazarus was albino, but brother to both the Tabby coats; Simba and Rover.   
Blu, Ashes and Moggy were from the same litter, sharing the same grey coats – _again, points for originality on the names._

It’s not until _twenty minutes past seven_ does that last remaining patrons totter out the shop, into the dark of night. Lance wasn’t aware, too busy curled with the cats, nose plastered to his phone, rifling through saved pins on Pinterest, until he heard the scrap of chairs.   
He raised his head, spotting Shiro, now apron-free, upending the chairs and sliding them onto the table. 

“Want me to help?” Lance offers, peeling the cat blanket off him, but Shiro nods to the windows. “Do you mind dropping the blinds? I’d rather not have anyone else try and come in whilst I’m cleaning.”  
Lance obliges, making sure to flick the door sign too, before dragging down the black-out blind and hooking it in place at the bottom of the door. He locks the front entrance too, following the clean up routine he’s watched Shiro and the other staff carry out the countless times he’s still sat draining his hot beverage. 

Then they’re sweeping the floor together, urging the cats upstairs. Shiro’s started letting them in the apartment so he doesn’t have to heat the bottom floor, to save on electricity bills. It also means cleaning at night is easier, when they’re not getting distracted by the cats.   
Tonight however, they’re getting distracted by one another. 

Sneaking glances when they think the others not looking, Lance deliberately humming Shakira’s _“Hips Don’t Lie,”_ so he’s got something to shake his ass to. Shiro still goes bright red, and sometimes he wears this look like he’s in pain, but that’s just him holding back from mounting Lance there and then.   
It’s not like he has to. The café is empty of humans and felines alike, the doors locked and the blinds are down. 

Which gives Lance a very, _very_ dirty thought. 

“You know,” he said from beside the counter, deliberately leaning the broom on the wall, out the way. “I’m pretty sure the first time I came here, you said I could work here.” Shiro looks up from where he’s brushing down the sofa, brow furrowed. He hasn’t picked up on Lance’s teasing tone, so he’s a little surprised when Lance hops up on the serving counter.   
“And if I was going to work here, you’d have to… _teach me how to make coffee.”_

Lance grins when he sees the man’s eyes flash with understanding. He abandons his chore with the sofa, glancing to the windows. But Lance has settled that obstacle, leaving Shiro to play along with this naughty game the younger has planned. 

“But you already know how to make coffee,” says Shiro, staling closer.   
“Then remind me.” 

Shiro is between Lance’s legs, hands on his thighs to keep them there. His eyes, solely focused on the young boys lips, look ravenous. But he doesn’t take them between his own, shove his tongue in and get things going.   
Instead he lets his hands knead the soft, yet supple skin on the boys legs, tracing shapes and patterns, rising up a little, but not going anywhere near Lance’s groin.   
“We better start with the basics,” he said, Lance shivering as Shiro’s eyes burn with lust, words dropping to a tone that has Lance half-hard in a second. Or, fully hard, because he’s practically been half-hard ever since he walked into the shop. 

Shiro’s hands, from where they were on Lance’s thighs, tiptoe around to his waist, down, and just as Lance’s breath hitches, Shiro abandons the skin. There’s a needy whine on the boy’s behalf, but Shiro’s leaning closer. _Perhaps for a kiss,_ but that too is denied, and Shiro has something in his hands instead. He’s grabbed it from behind the server counter, now bringing it up.   
Lance feels something caress his arm. He turns to look, but that’s when Shiro claims his lips and _oh, yes_ he’s been waiting all night to kiss this man. 

It stops at the kiss though, and Shiro breaks it first, moving backwards. Lance halts his chasing with surprise at the black material that’s being laced around his neck. It is the collar of the black apron Shiro wears, but now, Lance is the one wearing it. 

The older leads Lance by the legs, dragging him to the counters edge, settling him on the floor, all the while placing kisses on the golden skin the peeks between chin and collar. He turns Lance around in his hands so that he has his back to him, still finding skin, but also the ties of the apron, bringing them together at the small of Lance’s back.   
“First rule,” he says between suckling at nape of Lance’s neck, “-is uniform.-” more kisses, “- The apron-” another kiss, “- is always tied at the back.” 

Shiro ties the apron for Lance, leaving his hands on his hips for longer than necessary. But it’s a good longer-than-necessary, and when Lance wiggles his hips to urge Shiro on, he exerts pressure, before spinning the boy round once more. “Looks good on you,” he says, eyes glazed slightly. “Yeah?” Lance breathes, wiggling his hips to lure Shiro down to close the gap between lips.   
This kiss is longer, not just the not-so-subtle want that puts lips between teeth, the bite of rushed lust, the confusion of who is who as the pair try and occupy the same space in the intimacy. 

Shiro breaks the kiss first to go back to suckling Lance’s neck, and the boy just knows he is going to be covered in hickies come morning. 

“Next, we have to check the equipment.”   
The boy almost doesn’t hear; too busy marvelling Shiro’s perfect body now that he’s up close. It’s a surprise when the man actually takes a step back, but not before grabbing Lance again to lift, and place him back on the counter.   
“I thought we were checking the equipment,” Lance asks with a raised eyebrow.   
Shiro raises his own. “We are.” 

Hands feel their way from hips to chest, underneath the apron, but when Shiro moves, there’s a tightness on Lance’s back that feels like the man’s fingers and, well, he’s not complaining. 

Shiro’s fingers have found their favourite place; Lance’s nipples.   
But this time, the apron is staying there and Shiro can’t get his teeth on them. Fingers aren’t deterred by the material, and their already unbuttoning Lance’s new shirt with vigour. “Not part of the dress code,” he says into the boy’s ear.

It’s not long before Lance’s new shirt is on the floor but right now, he couldn’t care less, his hands buried deep in Shiro’s hair, kissing deeply, groaning as his body is loved, touched, explored with roaming hands that fall down, _down, down_ to the V of his pelvis and now Shiro has his fingers worming off his slacks.   
“Tut tut,” he growls into Lance’s ear. “Every employee has to wear plain black trousers.” Lance’s are a nice cool grey, and he’s so glad they’re not part of the uniform, because it looks like they’re coming off too. Lance kicks off his high tops to make it easier, both too into their game to hear the noise they make as they fall to the floor. 

“These aren’t black either,” Shiro says, the dorsal of his hand tapping lightly at Lance’s dick, but it’s not the bulge he’s talking about, but the Cheshire cat underwear that clothes the erection. 

The boxers join the trousers and shirt on the floor and a very naked Lance gives a slight shiver to the drop in temperature. Goosebumps cover his arms and legs, the breeze on his dick, the rubbing of the apron material making him all that much harder that it begins to _hurt._  
But now he’s just that bit more sensitive, just like Shiro wants as his roaming fingers caress every inch of the boy’s body, always coming close to the tip of Lance’s leaking dick, but never close enough and _god he needs Shiro to touch him._

“Shiro,” Lance whines, his own hands abandoning the man’s perfectly frosted tips to touch himself. Before he can get there, his wrists are caught, thrown together into Shiro’s metal arm and pinned to his chest. “Equipment checks have to be carried out by Managers only,” comes the husky sort-of order, “and since I’m the only Manager…” and Lance is happy to let Shiro finally, _fucking finally,_ fondle his cock with his real hand. 

An involuntary gasp leaves Lance’s lips as Shiro wraps a hand around the boy’s length, giving it a long stroke. “Hmm, looks good. But now we check the function.” He strokes again, thumb on the slit at the head and a shudder ripped through Lance’s body, enough to make his body shake. 

Shiro is a sex god. An absolute sex god that can get Lance painfully aroused with the faintest of touches, that can get his mind racing with the slightest of suggestions.   
Shiro certainly doesn’t _‘help’_ when his thumb, while the rest of the fingers still have hold of Lance’s dick, circles the boy’s entrance with suggestive presses. 

_“I want it,”_ Lance moans, no weight under his legs to support the bucking his hips want to do. But Shiro can’t, because there’s nothing there to help with the friction.   
He abandons Lance’s dick, to which the boy whines, moving so that each hand has a wrist. He pulls them behind Lance’s back, the lips left in the air, the space between them still close, but now they’re watching each other with a certain level of… _seriousness._  
There’s still the sexual tension, _so much sexual tension the pair are drowning,_ but when Shiro pulls Lance’s hands together, the joints crossing over above the apron knot, he stops. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, voice completely normal, nothing noting the fact his dick is standing to attention in his trousers, nothing suggesting he’s barely able to keep his hands off of Lance how is practically boneless beneath him. 

Lance gives a strong nod, keeping his eyes on Shiro’s, not breaking as the man transfers both wrists to one hand, the other finding the apron tie, slowly weaving it around Lance’s hands. Shiro is staring at the boy’s face, eyes only breaking gaze to sweep his body for any sign, _even the tiniest shake,_ that Lance doesn’t want this, that he’s scared, or even the slightest bit unsure. 

“You’ll tell me if you don’t want this,” Shiro said again, trying to gauge Lance’s willingness. Nothing he has said or done so far as brought any kind of discomfort, but they’ve only had normal sex, in a bedroom, where both have been shoulder to shoulder in terms of control. Now, Lance has to give his up.   
Not all of it; Shiro would never take advantage of the boy once he’s at his mercy.   
But these games hold a different weight and Shiro is careful as he walks on sand, searching for the line before he crosses it.   
He’ll never cross it, Lance knows that, and that trust he gives willing is what lights a determination in his eyes. 

“I’m fine. I want this.” 

Because he does.   
Shiro is opening up, showing more desire, showing a part of himself that takes trust and confidence to show. Lance feels special, and the grin that stretches his features won’t be going anywhere for a long time. 

Shiro takes the tie and pulls it, not tight, but enough that Lance will have to work to release his wrists. He gives it an experimental tug, feeling the material pulls at his skin, feeling the rush of _something_ shoot through him because, _his hands are bound behind his back._

Shiro is completely in control now, and all that is there to stop him is the word from Lance.   
_But what word?_ Shiro hasn’t revealed his safe word. If he’s a veteran at this, it should be obvious that he has a safe word. It can’t just be _“no,”_ or _“stop”_ because they can be said at the slip of the tongue, perhaps in this game they mean the opposite, spurring Shiro on more. 

The man lets go of the apron tie and Lance’s wrists, moving back to Lance’s cock, but they freeze when Lance squirms, eyes instantly shooting up to the uncertainty that’s rooted itself in his eyes. The smile is gone, even if Lance didn’t consciously know he wasn’t smiling anymore, and Shiro wears the same fearful look.   
“What is it? What’s wrong?” One hand find Lance’s, but they’re wide, catching Shiro’s fingers before he can begin to untie the knot. “No, it’s not that, it’s…”   
Lance looks up through his eyelashes, teeth catching his bottom lip so he can give his brain a chance to think his words through. The wrong thing will shatter the mood, but he needs to hurry up because he can feel it draining away. And fast. 

“Your word.”  
“My what?”  
“Your word.” Because Lance trusts he won’t have to use it, but for some reason, he feels like he needs it. He needs to know that Shiro is going to give him control, that this is more than just him fucking his hole, because…   
Shiro scowls for a moment and Lance’s fingers prickle with a chill. 

“I… don’t have a word,” Shiro says, blushing. _Yes, because not having a safe word is what’s got you embarrassed and not the fact you’re holding my dick in your hand._  
“Then pick one.” 

Shiro looks away, concentration painting lines on his face. Seconds tick by, and Lance, worried he’s screwed things up, is helpless to watch the sexual tension drain away. 

Then, “Kuro.”   
“Kuro,” Lance repeats, tasting the word on his tongue. Shiro visibly tenses, his hands freezing from where they had been withdrawing from the boy’s body, and Lance can _see_ the effect is instantaneous. Still, he doubts he’ll even need to use it, but for some reason, he feels so much more trusted now he knows. 

“You didn’t need to say it,” Shiro mutters, voice broken in… _sadness?_ “S-sorry.” 

Shiro looks up, face moving slowly. Lance sees what he’s trying to do, shoving his body forward, lips catching the man’s to suck sinfully at his lower lip, the corner of his mouth.   
Igniting the fire once more, Lance wriggled his hips, knowing it isn’t just his nipples that get Shiro hard. But he doesn’t need to worry about Shiro being _up,_ the man is still raging for something to enclose around him. But right now, it’s Lance’s dick’s turn, as Shiro envelops it in his flesh hand, the other roaming around on the counter. 

Lance watches from the corner of his eye, not quite breaking the connection of lips, but moving to reveal neck. Spying is easier this way and he grins as Shiro grabs hold of the bottle of caramel drizzle. 

_You dirty little shit._

Shiro’s grinning when he pulls back, like the moment earlier hadn’t happened, as if they hadn’t stopped between undressing and starting up again. 

The drizzle is cold on Lance’s stomach, a gasp pulled between teeth before clamped into a hiss when Shiro drags a tongue across the skin, tasting more than just caramel. More drizzle and Shiro is lapping at him like a dog, up his chest, down to swirl his tongue in the boy’s belly button, mouth over it to suck, _hard,_ hickies and the grazing of teeth left in patterns up, down, all over the boy’s skin. 

_“Fuck Lance,_ you don’t realise what you do to me,” Shiro moans, mouthing down, moving lips closer and closer to the head of Lance’s dick that has continued to drench itself in pre-cum. Shiro buries it in caramel drizzle, eyes on Lance as his nudges the tip with his tongue, pulling back before Lance can get too excited.   
His dick quivers and he’s begging, _“Shiro, Shiro please touch me, I can’t,”_ because he can’t, his arms are tied behind his back. “Shiro please!” 

Lance throws his head back, body following and it’s cold as he lays on the café counter, dick forced up in the air from where his hands are pressed into the small of his back. He has to arch as not to crush them and give himself pins and needles, but he doesn’t care for that when Shiro swirls his tongue around the head of his cock.  
He hums amusement before suddenly, taking Lance’s entire length in his mouth. Lance is moaning loudly, pulling at the bindings that trap his hands and stop him burying them in Shiro’s hair. “Shiro, Shiro _oh fuck!”_  
Shiro works his mouth over Lance quickly, one hand playing with the base, the other feather-light touches over Lance’s rim that twitches and puckers as if it’s kissing the fingers that hover there. 

Shiro holds one hand, not heavy, but strong, on Lance’s hips to stop them bucking as he takes the boy right to the hilt, humming to the sound of his gasping, which earns him a strangled cry and a foot on his thigh. Shiro is quick to catch the ankle in a metal grip before Lance’s toes can prod his own erection. _“Shiro,”_ Lance grins, groans, screams when Shiro began to bob his head, tongue dancing around the shaft that’s in his mouth, muscles working to swallow Lance as deep as he lets himself. 

Shiro has a gift. A sex god gift and he loves showing off the fact _he has no fucking gag reflex_ when he takes Lance to the hilt and holds him there. “Fuck, Shiro, Shiro just fuck me already!” Shiro hums, mouthful of cock and Lance is screaming again.   
He cums, still in Shiro’s mouth, the release swallowed as easily as the man swallowed Lance’s dick, leaving Lance a panting, breathy mess sprawled on the kitchen counter. 

“We can’t leave a mess. We wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing here.” 

Lance just grins, aware enough to lift his head and meet eyes with the other. “Or we could. I wouldn’t mind an audience.”   
The hand on Lance’s thigh gives an experimental dig, but Lance isn’t staying quiet. He bucks his hips.  
He wants the warmth back, he wants Shiro, and he cants upwards again, only to jerk at the sudden chill that lands perfectly on the slit. “Do you like that?” Shiro teases, breath ghosting on Lance’s dick.   
Lance cranes his neck to look down at where the man had begun to lick off all the sweet sauce that runs down the length of Lance’s member. But its awkward to hold his head in that position, so Lance gives up, letting it lay on the counter as Shiro grabs his hips, dragging him onto a bulge, hot and hard. He moans to let Shiro know he needs that hard and hot rod in him. 

Shiro is in control.   
He begins with a finger, coated in enough caramel that it slides in easily. _Almost too easily._  
Lance tries to rut his finger, but the position, the obstacle of his own arms underneath him stop the motion short. He needs more, he needs it quickly, but Shiro seems to have slowed down. “I want it,” Lance says to spur the older on, watching as realisation clicks and desire is the only emotion on his face. 

“You’ve been playing with yourself today.”   
Lance wiggles his hips, ass hungry for more. “Quicker to get you in me. And I want you in me Shiro,” he says, licking his lips, letting his face wallow in that sleep-soft gaze Shiro seems to bask in in the afterglow.   
He likes it now, hunger on his face because while one hand begins to work Lance open even more, straight in with two fingers, scissoring as the dive in and out, in out, in out, _in and in again until they’re pressing at the walls, searching for the knot of nerves that will have Lance melting even more._

Lance’s breaths are heavy, heavy moans leaving lips as Shiro adds a third finger. “Oh god more Shiro, more, _I need more!”_  
“You like this don’t you,” Shiro said, hooking the three fingers, pressing into Lance’s walls just to listen to the breathless shudder. Lance shakes his hips, trying to start the motion of thrusting, but Shiro moves with him, the fingers remaining where they are inside. “You like this, you like my fingers don’t you?”  
“Yes.”   
“You like fucking yourself on my fingers. You’re happy with just this aren’t you.” His breath is hot on Lance’s neck, voice unbelievable calm, as if Lance isn’t fucking his hand to get himself off. 

“No, _no Shiro,_ I want more, please.”   
“More?”   
“Yes, yes more,” Lance begs, legs stilling for a moment as Shiro hums softly into the nape of his neck, tongue sliding from ear to collarbones, little love bites left like marks of ownership. And oh Lance is his, Lance is his, _he’ll be anything Shiro wants of him, just touch me, “more Shiro more, I want you, I want all of you.”_ He pulls at his wrists, a whimper breaking his moans when the bonds won’t give, he can’t let his hands fall in Shiro’s hair, he can’t jerk himself off, he can’t jerk _Shiro_ off, he has to wait.

“Do you want this?” Shiro asks, plunging his fingers in so deep Lance thinks he’s going to tear. The other hand, that had Lance’s ankle pinned releases, taking its place around the boy’s caramel and cum-covered cock, stroking to add to the sensation that he’s on the edge, but he’s not getting what he wants, he’s got to wait, _he has to wait._

“Shiro, fuck me,” Lance breathes, lifting his head, looking down to the sight of the man wanting him. Still clothed, but dick so prominently hard under his uniform. Lance can’t see himself, the apron hides his own erection from him, but he doesn’t care for that, he wants what Shiro’s hiding and he wants it, he _needs_ it.   
“Shiro, please, I want you to fuck me,” he forces out, ignoring the shakiness of his voice. “I need your cock.” He’s begging for it, it has him blushing, but he doesn’t care right now because he knows what he wants, he knows Shiro loves him for begging and he’ll beg until he gets that dick inside him, messing him up. 

“Hmm, you want my cock do you?” Shiro says, slowly withdrawing his fingers from Lance’s stretched hole, the slurping of skin on wet skin enough to make Lance come if he could, but Shiro’s got a tight grip on his member to stop him from getting release a second time. 

Slowly, the man pulls at his clothes, with one-handed grace that Lance can’t help but admire, half lidded eyes marring the sight of this Adonis strip for him.   
Shiro is every kind of hot; tall, brawny and solid. The light of the café catches the shadows of his muscle, catching every scar that lay like map lines across his chest, telling stories Lance wants to know.   
His eyes shine as Lance admires him, and they admire each other, caught up in the moment of two people wanting each other so bad they don’t know what to do with themselves.   
But then Lance catches sight of Shiro’s dick, and he knows exactly what he wants that man to do to him. 

Shiro has discarded his clothes, standing unabashed before him, cock bobbing free, massive and blushing pink. It stands proud from a patch of neatly-trimmed dark patch of hair, a singular vein running from the base, right to the tip that’s as wet as Lance’s mouth who’s begging for it. 

Lance fidgets; impatient, watching as Shiro strokes himself, not needing to bring himself any closer to climax, but god, it does wonders for Lance who is watching him hungrily. He licks his lips, shakes his hips and spreads his legs, hoping Shiro will see that he’s waiting. His hole puckers at the thought of the man’s dick in him, and Lance suppresses the grin that see’s Shiro’s eyes widen from the display. 

Shiro is always surprised by how bold Lance gets when they’re in the moment. Even now, wrists bound, laid on his back in the middle of the café, he’s shaking his hips because he wants sex and he wants Shiro to fuck him. What else is there to think about? 

Shiro is still stroking himself, staring down at this boy who is spreading his legs, showing off that cute little hole, pink and twitching, toes curling in anticipation. 

Shiro moves closer, the tip of his leaking dick kissing the hole. 

“Please,” Lance suddenly yells, lifting his head. “I want it Shiro.”   
“Want what?”  
“Your cock!”   
“Hmm?” Shiro watches him, humming to himself for a moment before he’s even closer, and suddenly, their cocks are touching. “You want my cock here?” Both pressed together in his hand, Shiro rocks his hips, fucking his own hand that holds Lance’s too tight to allow him to cum. 

“N-no,” Lance tries, but it breaks into a needy moan, eyes shut, suddenly out of breath because _holy shit he’s just so fucking hot!_

“Or perhaps, you want me here?” He breathes right next to Lance’s ear, the head of his cock pressing against the boy’s entrance. “Yes,” Lance hisses with need. 

Shiro moves back, hands on Lance’s legs to line himself when he halts for a second. Lance knows, and without missing a beat, _“my pocket. In my pocket,”_ he repeats. A chill takes the place of the man’s hands for a moment, but Lance doesn’t need to open his eyes to know what Shiro is doing. 

Lance hears the wrapper of the condom rip and his body tenses in anticipation. _Any second now, any second now…._

Shiro is back, heat pressing against Lance’s rim and he’s entering, he’s in and he’s burying himself inside him as much as he can. Shameful noises leave Lance, his back arching up because the pins and needles in his hands are beginning to hurt.   
“Shiro, Shiro fuck me, mess me up,” he moans, voice catching as Shiro begins to thrust. He bows, body bending for lips to catch skin, pushing slowly, purposefully. “You’re still so tight,” he says, breaths hot against Lance’s skin, lighting him on fire. “You’re so tight. So good, so good,” he repeats, kisses and nibbles laying like star constellations on Lance’s skin. 

Lance moans the man’s name, rolling his hips, his cock brushing at Shiro’s chest who remains bowled over. He groans in pleasure, biting the skin on Lances shoulder enough that his moan rips into a short yell. It’s drowning in pleasure though, the pain of it adding to the moment, to the realisation that Shiro is fucking Lance in the café. 

_Naughty naughty._

Shiro starts to pace himself, pounding hard, the sound of bodies joining, the panting breaths the only thing in the world other than each other. Lance moans long and he moans loud to every roll, every thrust, every grind of the hips that fill Lance’s ass and his hungry hole. 

“Sh-Shiro, fuck me,” Lance urges the man on, electricity in his body, fire under his skin. 

“Fuck, Lance, you’re… you’re…” but the man is just as lost in the moment as the boy, his thrusts becoming sporadic. Lance knows he’s close. “Touch me, touch me too Shiro,” he whines, rolling his hips. “I want to come.” He’s already teetering on the edge, just as close as the other, close now that Shiro holds him in his hand, rubbing, stroking.   
Suddenly, he stops, pulling out. Lance throws his eyes wide, chasing the man with his gaze, but before he can question his actions, Shiro is lifting Lance by the hips. Feeling returns to his hands and arms, the limbs burning from when Lance had been crushing them. 

Shiro’s hand curl under his body lifting Lance further, laying legs on his shoulders, dragging his hips closer, plunging in with a throaty groan. His rhythm, quick but filling, starts up again, fast and thorough.   
Lance is lost to the immense pleasure, moaning to the jerks that slap against his skin, humming into the movements of friction on his cock, Shiro working him up to his release. Shiro’s dick hits his prostate as he presses his thumb on Lance’s head, tip of the finger in Lance’s slit and _“coming, Shiro I’m coming!”_  
Shiro cums too, riding the orgasm still buried deep to the hilt. His movements are still jerky, face twisted in absolute pleasure. Lance’s body twitches, legs dropping to the man’s hips to hook behind him, keep him in for a moment longer. 

Lance catches his gaze; Shiro is so much closer now, he can see the man clearly, body glistening with sweat, the sex-soft gaze of a man transfixed by the beauty that lays before him.   
“Shiro,” he calls, voice dripping with desire, but so much more than that. Emotions he refused to admit, feelings that would destroy the moment as they both marvel in the moment after. 

Lance won’t break it. He asks for a kiss, elated when Shiro complies, his heart doing weird fluttery things in his chest which feels like a panic attack and the first breath of life all at the same time. Lance closes his eyes, imagining those soft grey eyes staring at him and only him. _Always, only him._

Shiro pulls out of Lance, but doesn’t let go of him just yet, sitting him up. He’s blushing, a little shy as he undoes the knot still binding the boy’s wrists, the skin underneath slightly red from where he had pulled on it unthinkingly.   
“I’m sorry,” Shiro says when he sees, but Lance reassures him he’s fine. _It’s fine. More than fine._  
The taller removes the dirtied apron, folding it for the wash bin before helping him down off the counter. But the second Lance’s bare feet touch the cold floor, his back spasms in pain, his legs reduced to jelly, sending him to his knees. Shiro catches him before he can fall though, laughing out a soft sorry. He had literally wrecked him, but Lance isn’t going to complain.   
Although, walking will take a moment. 

Lance isn’t’ given a moment. Shiro helps him to stand, but then he’s gathering the boy into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. Lance was shocked at first, but then he laughs, throwing his arms around the man’s neck, burying his face there for a kiss and a taste. He feels Shiro begin to walk. 

“Hmm, not finished?” he asks, trying to ignore the light throbbing ache just under Shiro’s hand that holds his bum.   
The man’s dick has just been up his ass, so Lance doesn’t know why he’s blushing because Shiro is cupping his bum cheeks, but he can’t help but hide it, face buried in Shiro’s shoulder again. 

“Where are you taking me?” he hums, hoping the other doesn’t realise how fast his heart is beating.   
“Upstairs. I’ve made a mess of you, but now let’s get you cleaned up.”   
“Why?” Lance asks, flirting enough he can pull his face from where it’s buried, tilt his head and smile naughtily at his partner. “You’re just going to make me more dirty later anyway.”   
Shiro smiles. “True. We have the house to ourselves till Sunday. I’m going to take my time getting to know every inch of your body.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Saturday 18th November**

Waking up Saturday sucked.   
Okay, in more than one sense because Shiro woke Lance up with a blow job.

The other sense however, was that Lance’s back and ass unbelievably ached. The two had gone for too many rounds; following downstairs in the café. Lance had got horny in the shower and teased Shiro into fucking him standing up. Then, after dinner, they’d disappeared to the bedroom, not falling asleep till about four in the morning, too concerned with… _getting acquainted_ with one another. 

Cuddling in bed took them till lunch, until neither could ignore their hunger any longer. Shiro wasn’t sure what to cook, but Lance was happy with having the leftovers chicken and cheese lasagne they had the night before.   
Instead of sitting on the hard chairs on the table, the two sat on the sofa, the TV playing _‘The Maze Runner,’_ with the surround sound speakers and everything.   
Lance was happy to lounge, a course book open on the coffee table that he’d skim through during adverts. Shiro had fallen asleep, head on the boy’s lap, acting like a personal water bottle. Blu helped, laid on the back of the sofa, her body pushed back into the space of Lance’s neck. 

It was almost… _domestic._  
And it hurt. 

Lance has to stop himself every time he catches himself tousling Shiro’s hair, he has to catch himself every time he bends down to kiss the man’s forehead just in case he wakes up. He has to stop himself from becoming too indulgent when they join bodies again that night, reminding himself its sex only no emotion. 

So he screams and he pants and he whines like a slut in heat, because that’s what he showed Shiro their first night together and it is that display that has Shiro wanting him.   
It’s enough. He has Shiro’s body, he has the heat, and he has these moments to indulge in his own domestic, vanilla fantasies.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Saturday 18th November**

“So next week then,” Shiro says. He trails a finger up Lance’s bare arm, back down again to trace patterns on the back of his hand, both of them too focused on the mobile in Lance’s other hand, looking at release dates for the sequel to whatever movie they had just been watching.   
Shiro fell asleep part way through, not because it was boring. But, after plenty of alcohol, and enough sex with Lance to sate him till next year, Shiro had relaxed once more and snoozed. 

They’re still being lazy now, dressed in the basic attire of underwear, keeping each other warm under the light sofa throw as they lay with each other on the sofa; the music channel on for background noise. Lance has his head pillowed on the man’s chest while Shiro has an arm wrapped around him, the other drawing faces on bister skin. 

It’s peaceful, _more_ than peaceful, it’s practically tranquil with Lance there beside him. Shiro watches him listening to the boy talk about other movies and something about media studies, entranced by his voice, the way his hands animate his words, the lilt of his tone, words pouring out faster and faster as he gets excited. 

“Sorry,” he says suddenly, turning to look up at the man that’s watching him. “You probably don’t want to listen to me ramble.”   
“No, I like listening. Keep going,” Shiro urges, squeezing the man with one arm, pulling at the throw with the other. He’s not really paying attention to his legs one moving to drape over Lance’s the other between them so he’s hugging one of the boy’s legs with both of his. Lance doesn’t move his legs so Shiro doesn’t notice what his lower body has done. 

Lance offers a sort-of smile, something else on his features when he takes his gaze off Shiro, pulling up YouTube or something to show interviews and behind-the-scene blogs from directors. He’s talking about different people and their quirks, how he thought he wanted to be a director, how it still is a possibility, but video game design is just as appeasing to him. 

Lance is opening up. Or, making conversation as they lay there, taking a break between bodies joining. Shiro’s not complaining. He likes this, likes these moments together.   
Lance hasn’t denied him yet, so hopefully he’s beginning to warm to him, and hopefully will warm to him enough that, in the future, there could be something more… 

Shiro’s not listening as Lance talks, his mind elsewhere. When the boy looks back at him, he doesn’t stop the motion of meeting lips; soft, chaste, smiling into the motion when Lance moves with him. 

“What was that for?” Lance asks, one eyebrow raised. Three words poise on the end of Shiro’s tongue and he almost gasps, but is quick to stop himself, cutting words and shock off with a cough. It’s not the words themselves, but the fear they were about to be said so naturally, as if there already was something more. As if they were something Shiro was allowed to say.   
“No reason,” he forces himself to say instead, faking a smile until Lance turns back to his mobile. 

_Those three words…_

Shiro doesn’t deny them, god, he already knows them to be true. Why else would his eyes chase Lance everywhere he went, why would he always be searching for the boy in a crowd, long before he knew his name.   
He loved this boy, and he feared what those three little words could do to a relationship entirely built on sex. 

Shiro buried his head in Lance’s hair, knowing he’ll have to be more careful from now on.


	8. The Daily Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is coming to terms with his feelings. Lance too.  
> And they’re talking…. Just, not to each other.

**Sunday 19th November**

They’re laid side by side to one another, caught between the afterglow and a heat that is warming itself back up to scalding. It doesn’t take long for Lance to be climbing back onto Shiro, urging him into screwing him, in control as he rides Shiro again.   
Hands on Shiro’s hips, just the tip in his cute little hole, Lance groans as he lets himself engulf Shiro’s thick cock, bouncing slightly when skin meets skin and all of the man is inside him. 

Shiro can’t stop himself from smiling, his stare transfixed on the boy that is using Shiro’s dick like a toy, intoxicating him with every push of his legs that take him up, off Shiro’s cock then back down again.   
Each movement accompanied by glorious moans, to which Shiro joins in when his dick hits just the right spot and the boy tightens around him. 

The craving for release is rewarded, Lance slipping from Shiro before he can cum inside, their seeds mixing together to make a mess of Lance’s stomach. 

“Good morning,” Shiro grins, hand up tuck Lance’s fringe behind an ear, but the boy bats his hands away with a smile. “Nope, no more,” he tuts, eyes glancing to his cum-covered chest, the liquid oozing over glistening skin. “I’m going to shower and you, _big boy_ , are getting up.”   
Shiro feels his cock twitch, trying to get _up_ as Lance struts from the room, knowing just what he’s doing with his bare ass, heading to climb into the shower. The flow of water starts, and although Shiro wants nothing more than to spend another day of lounging with Lance and fucking him when they’re in the mood for it, he knows that’s not happening. 

It’s early; still only seven, but that’s an hour from opening up shop. Black sits in the doorframe, called upstairs by the sound of footsteps, knowing the Humans are awake. She’s hungry and she wants food. Giving Shiro the stink eye helps, and he’s climbing out of bed to go downstairs to feed her and the others.   
Once the cat bowls are full, and he’s distracted Lazarus with a toy to stop him attempting to trip his owner, Shiro makes a start on breakfast for him and Lance. He likes cooking for Lance because he likes caring for him.   
It’s lover-like and if he can indulge in more domestic _“boyfriend moments”_ like simply eating breakfast while in their underwear after morning sex then he’s going to. 

“Smells good,” Lance says upon entering the kitchen. He, unlike Shiro, is fully dressed, hair still slightly damp, although tousled from being towel dried. “I wasn’t sure how you liked you bacon,” Shiro says with a glance over his shoulder. “Is this alright?” lifting the frying pan to show even cooked, brown-at-the-edges bacon strips. “It’s perfect,” Lance grins. He’s gone to the living room, swiping up two course books off the coffee table, shoving them in his bag that hangs off his shoulder. It’s dumped at the top of the stairs, to which the cats are curious. 

Shiro takes a moment to admire Lance running fingers through his hair before he turns back to the stove. “Do you have work today?”  
“No, not today. I swapped with Rolo. He couldn’t’ say no because of what he did last time. _Lucky,”_ Lance grinned, posing with a peace sign like he’s taking a selfie or something. “And that’s got nothing to do with you wanting two days of my dick.”   
Lance shrugged. “I don’t hear you complaining.”   
“I’m not.” 

Lance laid the table whilst Shiro went upstairs to get dressed. Uniform attire on, and the _clean_ apron waiting downstairs.   
He also snagged Keith’s hairdryer from his room before heading down, setting it on the breakfast bar before joining Lance at the table.   
“I won’t be able to give you a lift home this morning. But it’s cold, so dry your hair before you leave. If not, you’ll probably end up catching a cold.” 

The Cuban nods, blushing into his bacon, mouth full so he doesn’t have to reply. Shiro watches him over his cooked breakfast sandwich, trying to be subtle but probably failing. There’s not much talking, but it’s not like the silence is awkward or anything. 

Maybe… _Maybe Shiro could ask now._  
About… actually dating. Still sex, but a relationship too. Ever since he thought those words last night, it’s all Shiro can think of and he can’t seem to shake the idea from his head. They’ve been screwing for a little over two weeks now, and the weekends was half fucking, half cuddling on the sofa or in bed, so it’s not like Lance isn’t put off by not-sexy-skin ship. 

Lance is very tactile, Shiro’s learnt that from spending time with him. Either when they’re cuddling or sleeping or, like yesterday, just sat on the sofa. It had started with them sat next to one another, cushions and a cat between them, but when Moggy got up and left, _Lance_ had been the one to scoot over, his body resting against Shiro’s.   
_Lance_ had sought the skin ship out. _Lance_ made the first move. 

Was this it? Was this…. Lance, making the move first.   
Did he feel something more? Was he… _looking for something more?_

Shiro watched him, admiring the sight as Lance scrolled through text messages on his phone, catching up to the gossip he’d kept himself apart of over the weekend, too busy spending time with Shiro.   
It would be easy to ask him now. It’s quiet, its calm. 

_Now, now ask him now._

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Shiro began, trying not to choke on fried egg as his nerves caught up to him, yelling _holy shit, I’m about to ask him out, holy shit I’m about to ask him if he wants to date me, holy shit, holy shit, holy-fucking-shit-on-a-stick—_

“Hmm?” Lance lifts his head, phone face down on the table. He’s got a bit of ‘Daddy Sauce’ on the corner of his lip, and Shiro smiles. _And now your head is down the gutter because you’re thinking of your  ‘Daddy Sauce’ spilling out his mouth you perv. _  
Shiro swallows his blush, reaching over without thinking, thumb on the boy’s lip to brush it away. Lance licks the sauce off his thumb before Shiro can pull his hand away, grinning sinfully across the table. “No, we’re not having a quickie before I go. You’ve got half an hour for preparations, and I’m meeting Hunk so I’ve got someone to look over my Computer Science notes.”   
“I can do it,” Shiro offers, although he’d have no clue what he was doing. “You have work,” Lance points out, returning to his sandwich. “And I have to go,” he adds, phone buzzing. 

The rest of the sandwich is quickly eaten, and Lance is pulling on his jacket, hair still damp, but he’s tucking it into his beanie. “Give me a text okay. I can’t remember my shifts off the top of my head, but I’ll let you know when I get home.”   
Shiro is in no rush to finish his breakfast, knowing Allura and Matt and due in for morning shifts today, and they’ll be helping set up shop. He waves as Lance heads downstairs to the first floor, using an app on his phone to turn the radio on to quell the silence once the door shuts, a little annoyed he’d let Lance walk out without asking him about their relationship.  
There was always next time.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Sunday 19th November**

 _[From: Lance-a-licious – 08:21]_  
So, I don’t have as many evening shifts this week, meaning I’m free Tues, Weds and Friday, but weekend is booked. I totally didn’t forget about the huge ass project due for Mr Iverson next Monday, which I’ve totally started.   
(╥_╥)

_[Message Sent – 11:03]  
How’d you forget that? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:28]_  
No clue but somehow I managed. Already started on it with Hunk today so I’m not freaking out or anything.  
Sorry I didn’t reply, I turned my phone off to concentrate. You know me and getting distracted.   
¯\\(o‿o✿)/¯

_[Message Sent – 15:43]  
Yes I do. I also know what keeps distracting you ;)_

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:43]  
I can distract you too. _∠(ツ」∠)＿

_[Message Sent – 15:43]  
Do your homework Lance. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:43]  
Meanie_ (╥_╥)

“So…” Allura says, walking over with Tiger in her arms, the cat content to her stroking. “Matt tells me Keith was round his, all weekend.”   
Shiro looks up from his phone, quick to pocket it after reading Lance’s text. “Hmm, who- _oh, yeah,”_ he says, stammering out words, brain ditching him without an excuse. Allura’s grin grows on her face, standing behind the counter. Matt’s busy clearing tables for the moment so she is in the clear for gossiping.

“He tells me it’s because you had a certain someone round here.”   
“But Matt lies, so he might not be telling the truth.” 

Allura raised an eyebrow, just smiling as Shiro’s blush blossomed enough he was as red as a rose. And as cute.   
“Oh come on, I know you’ve been fucking all weekend.”   
_“Language,”_ Shiro sputtered, but there was no animosity, too focused on Allura’s accusation. He was having trouble fighting a hard-on already considering memories of screwing Lance _right here, in the damn café bending him over and plunging into him like they were filming a damn porno!_

“I’ll…. uh, I’ll be right back,” Shiro said quickly, untying his apron, yet keeping the material there to hide what he had failed to suppress. “You know I’m not going to let this lie,” Allura said before Shiro could shimmy round the counter and up to the third floor bathroom, far away enough no one will hear him jerking off.   
“Or I could just ask Lance for the details,” the girl called, gaining Matt’s attention just as quickly as Shiro, who spun on the spot. 

“Allura, you dare and I’ll….” But his threat fell short. Allura knew as much, the smug grin on her face widening, even when Matt came to stand next to her. “What’s this?”  
“Shiro’s trying to find something to hold over my head so I don’t go asking Lance about their sex life.”   
Matt’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh, count me in, I want to play detective too.” 

So now Shiro is trapped in a corner, Allura and Matt grinning devilishly at him and his dick vying for attention too. 

And it’s not like Shiro is proud of what he says next, but hey, corner a feral animal and they’ll bring out their claws.   
“Matt, you stay out of this and I’ll tell you who’s caught Pidge’s eye. Allura, if you don’t want me to tell Matt who _you’re_ dating, I suggest you drop this now. Now I’m going upstairs for a second and when I come down, this conversation will be over.” 

Shiro is upstairs before either friend can finish screeching their _“WHAT?”_ racing up the second flight of stairs to the top floor, into his bedroom and locking the door behind him. Not his… _proudest moment,_ considering he’s skipping on work to jerk off to memories of screwing Lance in the workplace, and considering he’s just told two little white lies so that his friends won’t bug his _sex-friend-who-I-want-to-be-boyfriend_ about the details of their sex life.

Wow, when did Shiro’s life turn into a soap opera?

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Monday 20th November**

Lance lays his head on the kitchen table, eyes swimming with calculations and algorithms which he’s sure are going to haunt his nightmares. 

“Need a splint?” Lance lifts his head, glaring. “Rolo fuck off I don’t want no drugs.” But it’s not Rolo, its Dale.   
“Chill dude. You’re working yourself to death with all that—” he cranes his neck to look at Lance’s study books, “— _God,_ maths.”   
“Tell me about it,” Lance groans, dropping his head back down, hoping his brain will use osmosis to absorb the knowledge from the book into his head. If only it would be that easy. 

“So~” Dale sings, sitting himself opposite, hand digging at the popcorn from the bowl on the table. Lance doesn’t fight him off his snacks, barely having enough energy to lift his head and watch the boy talking. “How was the weekend.”   
_Oh great, gossip._

“So so,” Lance grunts, head down, still annoyed that he’s not going to be seeing Shiro much this week. Usually he’d be round at least four days and they’d bang at least twice, if not it’d be a quickie in the bedroom while Keith was oblivious in his study with loud music and headphones on.   
But with this damn project hanging over his head, Lance knew that he wouldn’t be able to indulge himself in hanging out at the coffee house. Well, he could still, but then Iverson would fail him. It’s only the first fucking course of the third year and he’s…. _failing._

Lance sighs into his book, listening to Dale’s worried voice ebbing into his conscious. “Woah, dude I thought he was killer in the sack. Did you guys fight or something?”   
“Not really,” Lance begins, but he’s mumbled it into the pages of his book and Dale hasn’t heard him over the sound of his hand in the popcorn bowl. He hears a door open, but it doesn’t mean much to him considering Dale is still talking; rambling on as he talks his way through his thoughts.   
He’s being the supportive best friend, trying to help, even if that means listening, talking and eating Lance’s snacks.

“Oh man, that’s not good. It’s not serious or anything. Because I know it hasn’t even been a month, but you’re so into your boyfriend I thought—”  
Lance actually _squeaked_ when Dale said that, his head shooting up off the pages of his calculus book, wide eyes. Rolo has joined them, frozen like a deer in headlights with one hand in the snack bowl.   
Dale is wearing the same expression. “What? What did I say?”

Shit. It’s so fucking painful to even _think_ that word concerning Shiro, and here Dale is saying it out loud it’s… it’s not even funny. Nothing about this whole thing is funny. 

Suddenly Iverson and failing isn’t Lance’s main worry. 

“We’re…. we’re not dating,” Lance tells the table, arms curling around himself as the room grew cold. It was all in his head, but still, he gave an involuntary shudder. 

"Oh come on, Lance," Dale laughs, obviously not believing him. "We're not stupid. Ever since Rolo screwed you over with the shift—”  
“Hey!”  
“—Dude, its true don’t bother denying it.—”

Dale shuffles in the chair, gaining Lance’s attention again. “Ever since that Friday, you've been staying out later _a lot._ Not like before. You used to be back here well before Rolo or I did, even on the days you weren’t cooking. Now it’s rare to see you here if it’s not for coursework or sleeping.   
“And you say you’re going to Hunk’s place as well, but he’s got Shay. You’re not a shit friend who would step on their toes, and you hate Campus Study Hall, so I know that you’re seeing this guy more than you’re telling me.” 

Rolo nods along like he has a clue, but then again he probably does. Ever since Lance has been meeting with Shiro, he’s not around as much to pick up the slack of house cleaning or chores. Normally he’d be nagging his housemates constantly, but nights he returns home after sex he’s usually too tired to do much but sleep.   
Shiro feeds him so he is cooking less, and shopping trips are quick to-the-corner-store runs rather than his usual weekend haul. The time he’d usually spend on groceries are spent between Shiro’s legs and he’s happy that way. 

_But…_

“Fine. Yes I see Shiro pretty much every day. Yes I like the guy,” But then he’s quickly shaking his head, looking down at his hands that remain around his body because, _fuck it’s cold in here._

“We're not in a relationship,” he murmurs. “We’re just sex friends. I don’t think he even does relationships.” Those words came out a little bitter, but who was to blame Lance. He _was_ feeling bitter. 

Shiro has had to have had other partners other than Lance. Keith confirmed that the first morning after, and okay, so maybe Shiro hadn’t gotten as far as tying them up and giving them a safe word, it’s probably because… well, it’s not like Lance is _special_ or anything, even if he wants to believe he is.   
It’s probably more like, Lance is an easy pick up, considering they were fucking within half an hour of hello. They’re bodies are compatible too and Lance acts way too provocative. That’s probably the reason Shiro assumed a little bondage was okay in Lance’s behalf.   
Everything he’s done has dug himself a grave and although Lance pretends he’s happy sat in the dirt, he doesn’t like it. 

He _wants_ that relationship with Shiro. He wants what he won’t get and he fears it’s eating him up on the inside. 

"But you two are seeing each other?" Rolo questions. Lance can't tell if he’s shocked because Lance isn’t as straight-laced as he’s made out, or if it’s something else. 

Lance shrugs. “To an extent, I guess, _yeah,_ we’re… seeing each other.”   
Silence stretches in the kitchen, Dale and Rolo having quiet eye conversations while Lance tries to figure out if it’s a good thing he’s just said what he has to his flatmates. Dale already knew, but to have him assume Lance and Shiro were dating… 

Rolo has nothing left to contribute, and he has work or something, so the boy grabs his things and is out the door, leaving the other two to sit in the heavy silence. 

"You like him, don't you?" Dale says, breaking the quiet. “You say he doesn't _'do'_ relationships, whatever that bloody means,” he grumbles, but then his voice is soft again. “You want a real relationship, don't you?"

Lance stares at his hands, bringing them in front of him as he starts to fidget. _Why is Dale so in-tune to these damn things?_  
“Yes, I do,” Lance sighs, dropping head into hands. It’s all he’d been able to think about over the weekend, soaking up the moments of domesticity, the want only growing every time the boys fell asleep holding one another.   
Fuck, it’s all he’d been able to think about all day when he’s meant to be doing this fucking project for Iverson. 

“I want to properly date him. We’ve only met up at his place and it’s for sex, but that’s what se friends are so it’s not like…” Lance doesn’t meet Dale’s eyes. “I haven’t told him. And yeah, I’m to blame for the way I’m feeling, but he came onto me first and I went with it because he was hot, I was horny and I hadn’t had sex since the beach party in California with the surfer couple.   
“But he’s had a few sex friends and he’s dropped them, I’m guessing, because they want more. It wasn’t like we started because we shared mutual feelings other than the fact we were looking for something to screw.” 

Lance dry washed his face, finally lifting his eyes. Dale looks sad. Lance can’t place why, but he’s too busy trying to wrap his head around thoughts and feelings to guess why his flatmate is giving him sympathy. 

“But I think I love him now. And, yeah, it hasn’t even been a month, but I know for a fact that I love being with him, even when we're not having sex. When we hang out, there are times when it almost feels like there’s more, but then I’m afraid it’s just me seeing what I want, and making stuff up that’s not actually there. You know what I mean?”

Dale nods.   
“So what? You’re just going to hang around until he dumps you? Or are you going to stay in this unhealthy relationship because you have feelings for a guy who won’t return them.” 

Dale sounds bitter now; he’s the one who has broken his gaze as he stares at the floor. “You like him, congratulations, that’ s great and all, but if you know nothing will ever come from it, why don't you just end it now and look for someone who will actually love you back. Before you fall in too deep."  
"Because I think it may already be too late?" Lance says before he’s realised it. Yeah, it’s too late.   
Lance is in love with him. He knows it, Dale knows it, everyone probably already knows it.   
The only person who doesn’t know it is Shiro. 

“I don’t want to leave him,” Lance says, voice cracking. “I know it’s stupid, I know it’s hurting me so much just to stay with him, and I know I’m sticking with him for sex, but it’s more than that. Like, if I stick around long enough he might just start to feel something back and something might come from this.”   
Dale stares with wide eyes, just beginning to understand who much Lance cares for the man he’s known little under a month. And yeah, Lance is surprised how deep he has actually fallen, and although he’s romantic and gushy, he’s not usually one for facing serious relationship’s head on like this. Which is probably why none of his past ones have worked out. 

But this time, with Shiro, he wants it to be different.


	9. Caffeine Keeps Me Up All Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is getting bolder in the bedroom and Shiro is happy to follow his lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No progress in the plot, just smut.

**Wednesday 22nd November**

“Oh come on Shiro, let me stay. Thursday morning is free period for me. And the apartment is busy at the moment with Rolo _‘making up’_ with his girlfriend. It’s not like I’ll get any work done with them being loud in the next room,” Lance moans, fingers ghosting over the burn tissue lovingly.   
They’re laid in Shiro’s bed, not quite tired enough to sleep, not yet ready for round three. Lance is trying to convince Shiro to let him stay. But with the still yet-to-be-completed project, and the fact Lance had lied to Shiro saying he’d completed it already, the older was less than eager to allow Lance to stay.   
“You should use tomorrow morning to get some work done,” Shiro counters, voice soft though. 

Lance’s eyes flicker, rolling over to lay his head on Shiro’s toned chest, staring up at him with a smile.   
That smile usually led to naughty things, and that was what Lance was planning, so it shouldn’t have been surprising what he said next. 

“Please _Daddy._ Let me stay?”

Shiro’s eyes burned with heat, his gaze finding Lance’s sinfully cute face, lips mouthing the word that had caused this stir in him. “Say that again,” he says, the words structured like a command, and Lance feels a tingle on his spine as the tone just _does_ things to him. 

“Say what?” Lance teases though, not giving Shiro what he wants unless he’s given permission first. _“Let me stay?”_  
“You know what I want,” Shiro growls, the words spoke with a bite that sends signals to his groin. Lance feels something poke his back, unable to suppress his smile before he rolls his hips, grinding against Shiro’s firm body. The man’s eyes widen, but Lance hasn’t given him what he wants as he presses himself into Shiro again, deliberate in letting him feel his own firmness flush against his bare skin.

Shiro growls again, the tingling sent rocketing to Lance’s toes, and before he can tease him again, feels hands pulling him up, closer. Shiro claims the boy’s mouth. Lance tilts his chin up into it, eager to let Shiro’s tongue explore, so much more than lust and passion fuelling the motion. He’s not even aware his hands are in the man’s hair before there’s a light tug from his fingers and Shiro _moans_ into the motion of Lance’s hands. 

And they’re kissing, Lance holding onto the moment like he’s been waiting his entire life to kiss this man. Their lips part for a moment, both catching their breath, but then Lance is plunging forward again, revelling in every touch, every taste, every part of this man that lays beneath him.   
The kiss is gentle, it’s wet and the noises fill the quiet of the room; everything but innocent. Lance feels like his skin is on fire, hands curling on the longer locks of Shiro’s hair, one abandoning the lengths to press light touches over the muscles that are hot and sweaty against his chest. 

“Let me stay,” Lance says again, hating that he’s breaking the kiss to be able to ask, but he needs to ask. He wants to stay, “ _Shiro let me stay.”_

“Say it again and I’ll consider it.”  
“And if I don’t?” Lance will tease this man as much as Shiro teases him, dancing a line he fears he’s pushing too far.   
Shiro raises an eyebrow, amused by the challenge that’s been set before him. “Then I’ll find someone else.” 

Lance’s touch falters, his skin unbelievably cold at the words. It’s like he’s just been dunked in a tank of ice, Shiro laughing at him as he holds him under, not letting him up for air.   
It’s a reminder. A harsh reminder, cruel and vicious, but a reminder none the less that Shiro could have _anybody._ He’s with Lance because it’s easy and Lance has to be that slut in heat, the bitch that will gag for it at Shiro’s command. The whore who will spread their legs to get Shiro’s attention, _keep his attention,_ and keep playing this game of _‘bodies not hearts.’_

It takes him every ounce of strength to keep that sultry smile on his face, leaning in to the touch, a feathered kiss on the corner of Shiro’s mouth. He steels his voice to retain its flirtatiousness, but meeting the man’s eyes is too much.

_“Daddy. Let me stay.”_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“Daddy.”_  
That little shit knew exactly what he was doing. That smile told Shiro so, a hand idle on the man’s chest, but his skin tingled as if Lance’s touch was lightning.

“Say that again,” Shiro mouths, voice unable to form proper words. He never thought himself one for kinks and the like, but after meeting Lance, Shiro knew the boy had changed him. Not just from the day outside the bus shelter, but after that. Every smile sent his way, every look that coaxed warmth from the depths of Shiro’s heart, as if it was all there, waiting for him. 

Lance could’ve told Shiro that his favourite colour has to be purple, and from that point on, it would’ve been true. He would’ve seen the colour differently from the second its name dropped lightly from Lance’s lips; seen the beauty hidden in the colour he only though one part of the spectrum before.   
But now, it’s his favourite colour. It is the budding of flowers etched in silver and violet, the colours of the sunset painted by an angel’s hand, _so delicate, so soft._  
The colour that shines in Lance’s eyes when the light catches them just right, and they’re not just blue, but they’re purple and pink and silver, as if he’s caught the galaxy in them. 

So when Lance says that word, says _that word_ that he disregarded in his childhood, the one abandoned with the man who had no more use of him… 

Lance erases every dark thought with what that word suggests. It’s not the back of a man who won’t return, it’s not the memory of a ghost who should’ve been there.   
Its warmth and heat. A burning desire that tells Shiro he’s never going to let go of this boy, who overwhelms him with such emotion of lust and want. 

_It’s a craving he wishes to sate, and wishes will never be sated._

“Say that again,” Shiro repeats, louder this time, letting his voice drown in yearning. He wants to hear that word again.  
“Say what? Let me stay?” Lance teases, because he knows, _he knows exactly what he’s doing,_ and although Shiro wants nothing more than to grab Lance and smash their mouths together in a hot wet kiss, he wants that boy to call him _Daddy_ again. “You know what I want?” he growls, voice as hard as his dick. 

Lance rubs himself on Shiro’s hip, but he hasn’t said anything.   
Actually, _screw waiting,_ he wants to kiss Lance again. He leads him closer, not aware he might be a little too rough as he seals their lips together, ignoring the throb of his hard-on wanting to get onto more strenuous motions. 

Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of kissing this tanned beauty he holds in his arms, but far too soon, Lance is pulling back. Shiro moves to chase those lips, but Lance hasn’t moved far, his breath ghosting on Shiro’s lips as he whispers “ _let me stay, Shiro let me stay.”_  
But Shiro wants more than just his name. He wants Lance to use the title he chose to say, the one that almost, _almost_ overwhelms him, reminding him how much he loves this boy. 

“Say it again and I’ll consider it.” 

Lance doesn’t need to; he’ll be staying even if he had morning classes.   
But Lance doesn’t need to know that, if not he’ll probably keep “Daddy” as a trump card, using it only when he really wants something. And Shiro knows he’ll do anything for him, whether Lance uses it or not. 

“And if I don’t?”  
But they’re still playing the teasing game. And Shiro, too quick to reply, too desperate to join lips, join bodies, join _hearts._ He doesn’t think and simply speaks. 

“Then I’ll find someone else.” 

It was a mistake.   
Shiro knew that instantly, eyes thrown wide in shock at his own carelessness. Lance stills too, a slight tremble to the fingers that curl over the skin and the heart that beats too fast.   
But the teasing threat does its duty, because he’s leaning in for a touch of lips, eyes peeking from under eye lashes. 

_“Daddy. Let me stay.”_

Shiro grins, hands on Lance holding him tight, rolling so that he’s pinning the boy beneath him. “Don’t worry. I’m never letting you go.”   
He can’t see Lance’s face when he says this; the boy is turned from him, but he feels the shiver of excitement course through him, right into his groin that rubs teasingly on Shiro’s bare stomach. 

Shiro laughed. “I almost forgot how needy you are.”   
He hears Lance’s gasp to a thrust of his own hips, feels the hands that are seeking him, enticing him back into their dance of bodies. Lance is aching for it; clear in the little moans and gasps he gives, Shiro’s name torn between two lips that can’t seem to decide where they wants to touch; neck, arms, torso, lips.

“It’s not _Shiro,_ is it?” the man asks, hovering over the body that trembles against the mattress. Lance is coming undone by his touches, coming undone by his own mind when he turns that sex-soft gaze upwards, eyes meeting to reignite the fire. “ _Daddy,_ fuck me.”  
It’s everything Shiro wants and more, something inside him waking to the sound of Lance calling him in such a sultry way, his mind snapping suddenly, like an elastic band under too much pressure. 

Each hand takes a wrist and he pins them to the pillows above his head.   
“I should, shouldn’t I,” Shiro says, lowering himself enough his voice, only a breathless whisper. Lance’s eyes flutter closed, groaning as if Shiro is already inside him. 

“I should hold you down pound into you, mess you up inside, wreck you until there’s nothing left.”   
_“Please,_ ” Lance whines, back arching upwards in anticipation, lips turning to catch Shiro’s, nibbling on what skin he’s able to get at. “Fuck me Daddy, fuck me hard.” 

“I should keep you here, never let you leave,” Shiro continues, as if Lance’s lips aren’t on him. “Tie you up, imprison you, turn you into nothing more than a fuck toy.”  
 _“Please Daddy—”_  
“You’d be mine. No one else would ever lay a hand on you; no one else would even be able to look at you.”   
_“Only for you, Daddy,”_ Lance moaned, hips up again, his bare erection pressed tight to Shiro, seeking release. The words are doing it for him, but he needs more, he wants more.

Shiro can feel the craving. He wants it to. 

“I should,” he all but sings, the words ghosting against the boy’s skin, stopped only for a taste to quench the thirst as Shiro drags his tongue from collarbone to cheek, tongue tracing lines of his skin. “But first…” 

“Keep your arms still,” Shiro commands, the words lilted in softness to cover the desperation inside him.   
A beast has awakened; one he never known to dwell within him, but it is that which commands the order, pulling his features into something stern to reinforce the power. 

Lance’s pulse stutters beneath him, mouth wide but slack as if the words have turned his brain to mush. His arms tremble under Shiro’s grasp, and when the man releases them, they remain; resting them on the pillow behind his head.   
Shiro pulls back, marvelling at the sight of the Cuban sprawled between his thighs.   
He’s already a mess and all they had done was kiss while stripping the other of their clothes. They’re just getting started, but before they can begin, Shiro has a game he wants to play. 

Leaving Lance on the bed, Shiro turns to his wardrobe. The lights in the room are off; the bedroom only lit from the glow of the street lamp outside. It’s all Shiro needs to be able to see Lance’s reflection laid on the bed, however, it seems he’s not laying still, legs pulling up to his chest, arms tensing as if he’s about to move them.   
“If you move, I won’t touch you,” Shiro says as if to himself, voice carrying in the quite. 

Lance’s reflection immediately stills. 

The submission makes Shiro smile. He takes his time, idle as his hands open the wardrobe door, moving as if he’s putting on a play. He knows Lance is watching him; he can feel his gaze flooding over his body as he searches for what he sees in his mind’s eye. He’s found it, curling it into his fist to keep them from Lance seeing. He hasn’t heard him move, and when he does finally turn back to the boy, everything ready in his arms, Lance is just as he left him.   
Legs lightly parted, hands still above his head as if Shiro has tied them there, eyes flared with a curiosity as he eyes the _‘gifts’_ Shiro holds. The boy swallows loudly, teeth biting on his bottom lip as if to stop himself from speaking. 

It takes willpower for Shiro not to mount him there and then, although he fails a little in his gracefulness, climbing up so he is on all fours over this boy. Lance is watching him with lust and curiosity, and Shiro reads his body like a book, the curling of his toes, the clenching of fists the only things he can put his energy into to stop himself from calling out, from arching his body up to meet Shiro’s nakedness bobbing free in the nudity.   
He’s drooling, and Shiro’s sense is gone as he ducks down, tongue lapping at the wetness of the boy’s mouth, savouring the taste. It gives him another idea, and the man _purrs_ with excitement. 

Shiro takes Lance’s hands and, holding them together, leads them closer to the top of the bed. He leans in close, not close enough lance can’t see his face nor him his, but close enough he can hear every hitching breath, feel any uncertain quiver. But just like that night the Shiro took him in the café, laid him on the counter and joined their bodies in a search for heat and release, Lance does not fear this game they’re playing.   
He watches, almost in steady intent as Shiro loops the silk tie around one wrist, the knot tied in a way it will only tighten slightly on the way Lance is bound to pull at it. He practiced since the first time, determined not to hurt Lance this time. 

This game wasn’t about the pain. It was about seeking pleasure, about the submission and release of control; not the acceptance that Shiro will do what he wants, takes what he wants and leave nothing to comfort Lance afterwards.   
He’s learnt from last time, and this time will be so much more. 

Shiro slid the other end of the tie down, under one of the wooden brackets that supports the mattress. Trust him to have one of those modern beds with the leather head-board and no holes. But pre-planning made everything smoother, and although this had just been a fantasy that would wake him many times with a raging hard-on and longing for Lance, he knew how to play it out. 

Shiro hesitated before tying a knot on Lance’s other wrist, looking down to check on him. There was no resistance, so the man continued on. He secures Lance’s wrists, turning the knot over to make sure it won’t slip. It’s not about Lance freeing himself; it’s about the knot becoming too tight. 

Shiro pulls back, settling on his heels, Lance underneath him. Shiro can feel his pulse, how it quickens with the ghost-like touches on the boy’s nipples. He wants to ravish them, but the beast says no, he wants to play the teasing game longer.

“What do you want me to do to you?”  
Lance swallows thickly, the expression on his face a mix of want and fascination. Shiro may have tied him up before, but he can see there’s something different about this time. 

“I… I want you to…” but the words die on his tongue, too occupied by the arousal Shiro is showing off just centimetres from his own erection. “Hmm? I can’t hear you?” Shiro teases, hand leaving the feather-light touches he had been leaving on the boy’s nipples. A hand grabs his chin, lightly, a thumb on the boy’s lower lip. Lance understands without command, and opens him mouth to allow Shiro entry.   
He does so, wearing a look of mild interest, as if he’s found a shirt he likes in the shop. Fingers on the boy’s jaw, thumb tracing the spikes of teeth in his mouth, saliva building up where Shiro’s exploring fingers make it hard for Lance to swallow. 

Shiro’s fingers are wet, saliva like cobwebs between them. He wants a taste, so he does, bringing it up to his mouth. Not in, but in front of open lips to lick at his own fingers, as if he’s lapping up melted ice cream.   
Lance watches, captivated. 

Shiro raises his eyes. Sees the lust.   
“Do you want a taste too?” he purrs, moving closer again. He stops before lips touch, smirking at the sight of closed eyes, twitching mouth, expectant of the kiss. 

“Open your mouth.”   
Lance hadn’t been expecting it. His eyes are open again, wide and waiting. He opens his mouth.   
“Good boy. Now hold out your tongue.” There’s hesitation, but Shiro doesn’t grow impatience. This is new territory for them. Although tied last time, Lance wasn’t ordered or commanded. It’s his choice to play along. 

Very slowly, Lance holds out his tongue. 

Shiro is quick to take it in his mouth, humming to the whimper when teeth are too tight and Lance pulls at the bonds for the first time. Shiro knows Lance wants to card his hands through the man’s hair, and he’ll admit he misses the feeling too, but there’s something about the way Lance is fighting to be closer that elicits passion even without it. 

Instead, Shiro is the one to push his finger through the younger’s fringe and Lance can’t help but to push up into the touch, like a kitten. He’s coming undone with just the kiss, his cock leaking pre-come already, enough that when Shiro grinds his dick against Lance, he’s wet all up the underside. 

Lance groans and Shiro breaks the kiss. “What do you want Daddy to do?”  
“Fuck me,” Lance says without missing a beat. He’s already well past the point of submitting; already Shiro’s to do with what he wants. “Now?” Shiro asks, moving to press cockhead against the boy’s hole. “Like this?”   
“No, no,” Lance whines, his legs suddenly snapping shut, blocking access and sight to his slutty little entrance. 

“Oh, you don’t want Daddy to fuck you?” Shiro hums. He watches Lance intently, gaze flickering to the silk on his wrists to make sure they’re not getting too tight. His hands retain their bronze colour, no sign of a stem of blood flow around his wrists.  
 _“I do, I do.”_

Lance is practically begging for it, his legs shuddering as he fights with an inner instinct to protect himself.   
“But… not like this,” he says, slowly beginning to understand Shiro’s game. He wants Lance to tell him everything, tell him _exactly_ what he wants him to do. And first, that means… 

Lance glances up at the knot that’s tied above his head. He wiggles his arms, tugging at the silk tie, testing the feeling. It doesn’t allow him any give, holding his wrists firmly in place, right where Shiro wants him to be.   
Shiro doesn’t stop Lance from trying, but he’s not moving in, head entertaining the thoughts that Lance is second guessing this situation. It’s not like Lance isn’t provocative and wanton as it is, but perhaps it’s different when being asked to act in a certain way. The words _‘act’_ repeats in Shiro’s head, but then Lance is looking at him and he’s falling in love all over again. 

“I want you to touch me.” Before Shiro can tease him for details, Lance continues. He’s turned face now, eyes tight shut, face pressed into his arm as if it will allow him to hide his blush. “I want you… to use… use your fingers and… loosen me up, like you always do.” 

“I could listen to you asking me for the rest of my life,” Shiro confesses, moving back to all fours because he just wants to _kiss_ again. They do, Shiro’s motions light as if Lance is made of glass, and when he pulls back—   
Shiro stops, eyes wide as the words find their way from where he buried them. “Shiro?” Lance asks, slowly opening his eyes, but before he can see the fear, Shiro nuzzles into the boy’s neck, fighting the surge in his chest.  
He almost said it again. Those three forbidden words:

_I love you._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m going to open you up now. But first, I want you on your front.”  
Lance barely has time to process that before Shiro is over him again, trailing fingers down his tan skin, his very insides on fire with the thought of where those fingers are heading, dipping down along his pelvis. But before they can come anywhere near Lance’s groin and pool of heat that has his head slightly fuzzy, the touch is gone.

“Roll over for me baby.” And _oh,_ Lance likes that. He lets Shiro know with a needy whimper, to which the man chuckles deeply. “Daddy,” he whines, his cheeks no longer burning with embarrassment when the word comes out. He’s not quite sure where it came from; he’s never used it or been called it. Heck, he hasn’t even watched any kink porn with the damn word in it, so he’s not quite sure where his mind has dragged it up from .   
Probably dirty talks with Dale, perhaps catching him and a classmate screwing on the other side of the dorm wall. He’s going to have words with him when he gets home.   
_Or not. That would actually be quiet embarrassing._

“Come on, roll over,” Shiro says, the words not quite a command. “I want to get my hands on you.”   
It’s not like Lance’s imagination needs a refuel, but that does it, and he’s all too eager to bare his arse to the man about to stretch him out and plug him deep.   
He bites down on the needy whine, wondering what would happen if he disobeyed a command. 

A shard of fears pierces him for a second time, and Lance almost lets his body tense up at the fear of Shiro getting bored with him. He’s already been reminded this is a causal hook up, probably until either find themselves someone to date properly.   
Lance wants Shiro to be _that someone_ for him, but Shiro’s not going to be, he needs to come to terms with that. 

Shiro, oblivious to Lance’s inner turmoil, is still moving above him. “Where does Baby want me to touch him first,” he whispers, fingers curling the ends of Lance’s hair. Lance just nods, not quite trusting his voice not to crack right about now. His mind is starting to feel a bit hazy; head showing signs of the beginning of a headache. He’s thinking too much. He doesn’t need to think too much.   
Shiro is in charge right now, that’s all he needs. Just lie back, and let Shiro take over everything; moving, thinking _feeling._

The taller is kissing Lance’s neck, humming into his nape, nipping and sucking on the skin like Lance is some sort of treat. “Here?” he whispers, reiterating the question Lance has yet to answer.   
But Lance doesn’t want to. He wants Shiro to choose, he wants Shiro to be the one to do what he wishes, letting Lance just immerse himself in the moment of skin-ship. 

“Or perhaps… here?”   
Shiro’s lips trail in slow, sweeping motions, down the curve of Lance’s spin. Petals of kisses lay on his scapula, each vertebrae that makes his spine, hands massaging the skin as if Shiro’s trying to memorise every dip, every rise, every freckle that dusts the boy’s lower back. He layers kiss upon kiss over the dimples of his back, humming to the sounds that Lance can’t contain; the anxious little gasps when touch comes close, before it moves away, leaving Lance close, but not close enough.   
It’s torment and Lance just wants to scream at Shiro to hurry up, “ _ravage me, break me, claim me. Don’t ever let me go!”_ He pulls at the restraints above his head, heartbeat stuttering when the tie won’t relinquish its hold and Lance has to stay, at the mercy of his mind and the agonisingly slow movements as Shiro takes his time. 

“Fuck me Daddy! Hurry up and fuck me,” Lance begs, biting on the pillow to crush the sob inside his throat. 

Shiro just hums, as if he hasn’t heard, and this time, Lance doesn’t bite down the desperation. He wants bodies joined, he wants the heat to warp his mind. He wants the pleasure, he wants to lose himself, he wants Shiro to take him and mould him into someone different, someone who Shiro will never tire of. 

Suddenly, Shiro kisses him again, his lips set on the skin just above Lance’s entrance. Lance’s arms lock, his arms sending him up, catching when the silk of the tie won’t allow him any further.   
Shiro laughs at the reaction, pressing kisses all around his rim. “Will you let Daddy have a taste,” he asks, and god, “yes, yes Daddy, hurry, _hurry!”_

Shiro needs little encouragement before his tongue darts out. But still, he hasn’t touched, but it’s enough that Lance feels himself wetter than ever, pre-come dribbling from him, drool from his mouth as he struggles to catch a breath because _“daddy, daddy I want it, please I want it.”_  
“You want what?”  
“Your tongue, your fingers, _anything Daddy,_ just fill me up inside.” 

And this time, Shiro obliges. He peppers kisses right on the entrance, tongue darting out in little kitten licks, again and again until Lance is a twitching, trembling mess on the bed. He can’t think, only feel and it’s what he wants, what he _needs._

“Daddy more, more.” It’s his one coherent thought, and it’s all he can say as Shiro plunges his tongue inside him, getting a taste of the boy he’s fucked so many times.   
Lance mouths at the pillow he’s pressed his face into, torn between biting and moaning in pleasure because _god it feels good._ It’s slightly strange, the sensation of it and it’s another first he’s handed over to Shiro on a silver platter, but that’s a good thing. 

“Fill me up,” he whimpers, spreading his thighs for more.   
Shiro hums in approval, suddenly changing from licking to sucking; his entire mouth clamped over that cute little hole. He’s focused on nothing else, almost taken by surprise when Lance practically _mewls_ at how close he is. He’s boneless but he’s hard, and although this feels _fucking amazing,_ it’s not enough. 

Lance pulls himself onto all fours, away from Shiro’s invasive tongue. He rolls himself over, panting, arms crossed over his eyes where he’s rolled the wrong way and it’s made the tie tighter around his wrists. It’s a good pain, but he’s restricted his movements even more. It’s not like he wants to move, not really. 

“I want you in me now,” Lance tells Shiro, chest thudding at the drool and utter filthy contempt that Shiro wears because he’s just licked Lance’s hole and now he’s going to fuck him. Lance spreads his legs wider, giving Shiro full view of his twitching hole, the flushness of red and just how tight he feels with the swelling of his dick. 

“Make me come Daddy.”

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. He settles himself between Lance’s thighs, one hand on his own length to help, and then, as soft as the kisses he left on Lance, he’s easing his head just inside.   
Lance allows Shiro the chance to get inside him before he ruts down, but the silk tie the binds him to the mattress slats won’t let him. He hisses from the pain in his wrist, the knot tightening on his arms, but right now he couldn’t care less, he just wants to ride Shiro’s dick and make them both all messy and wet. 

One hand, cold, slides down Lance’s chest, his palm flat. Lance bits his bottom lip in anticipation of his nipples being pinched, but Shiro just ghosts over them, petting his belly before slipping between his legs. And Lance makes a soft sound; stimulated from more than the dick piercing him, but also Shiro’s hand cupping his balls and dick in one soft press. 

It’s the first real touch Lance has had against his dick, and he doesn’t fight the shudder that comes with it, Shiro palming him up and down, nice and slow. “Beautiful,” Shiro murmurs; the same endearment he reserved just for Lance ever since their first time.   
It undoes him more that “Baby” and Lance can’t help the cry of need that pours from his lips. “Please Daddy more, move inside me, _come inside me.”_

It’s as if Lance is truly the one in control, and not the man that has him tied down and imprisoned. At his word, Shiro bucks forward, going from just head to hilt. Lance doesn’t hold anything back, not caring if he has to or if Shiro wants him to, he just lets the lust consume him, begs for Shiro to devour him.

Shiro has him singing to the sound of slapping skin, his cock leaking pre-come as he’s dragged to the edge then kept from it. “Inside, deeper,” are the only two words Lance speaks between his lusty moans. Something digs into his wrists and Lance cries out, but that only spurs Shiro onwards. He changes trajectory, his dick carving against Lance’s walls. 

Lance wants to hold onto him, wants their chests to touch. His nipples tingle for stimulation, his cock practically vibrating with needs. He’s wet, they’re both so wet, but every time Lance pulls on his hands to touch himself, they won’t move. His shoulders ache from where they’re held above his head, back and ass beginning to hurt too.   
_A good pain,_ he tells himself, but he still hasn’t come and Shiro looks like he’s almost there. 

“No, not yet,” Lance breathes, but he can’t seem to catch his breath, the words staggered between pants. “Don’t come yet.”   
Shiro bends down, supporting himself on one arm to hover over Lance, catching lips together. His other hands gives the boy’s cock a little squeeze and Lance chokes out more words. He wants to come, he’s near, but he’s torn. He doesn’t want this to be over so soon, he wants more, _so much more._

Lance throws his head back when Shiro’s grip almost becomes painful. _A good pain,_ he tells himself. 

Shiro kisses up his neck, his lips catching on Lance’s earlobe while he continues to play with his cock in tandem to the thrusting of his hips that come close to the knot of nerves deep inside. 

Lance has closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on one feeling from the other. There’s so much it’s making his head fuzzy. All he knows is he hasn’t come yet; Shiro neither and he wants them to.   
He does and he doesn’t.   
He doesn’t and he does. 

_“Daddy,”_ he mewls, feeling the slick of pre-come between himself and the hand that grips him. Shiro just keeps rubbing him, nipping at Lance’s neck, listening to all the sounds he makes; the soft little sighs and gasps of frustration as Shiro's hand speeds up and then slows back down. He gives him another squeeze, thumb sliding right over the slit that makes Lance squirm against him. 

“Do you want to come?” he whispers, letting Lance rut against his palm, his hips bucking up from the bed. He’s figured out how to move, but every motion puts tension on the restraints on his wrists. It’s okay; he can ignore that for now.   
Right now he’s looking for release. 

Shiro holds himself above Lance, watching him with a gaze sharper than any Bird of Prey’s. Lance whimpers out sounds too babbled to be words.

“Lance?”

He’s calling out to him. Lance has to answer, but his mind is so caught between the pain of his wrist, the pleasure and heat that is filling him up. Shiro has stopped moving now, but that’s not right, _he should be moving, thrusting into him, plunging down deep and messing him all up inside until Lance can’t accept anyone but Shiro._

“Lance?” This time the words have an edge to them. Dominant. Powerful. Lance _needs_ to answer, but he’s forgotten the question.   
He opens his eyes, searching for Shiro, finding him closer than he expected. They’re faces are close, not kissable close, but Lance can still see every detail of the man’s face; his eyes glowing with lust, the light sheen of sweat on his brow, the slight bit of stubble on the end of his chin. An image of Shiro with a short-boxed beard filled his mind and it makes him smile. It also makes him harder, if that was possible. 

“Daddy,” Lance calls, wanting him closer. He wants to kiss him, to lick him, to taste him just like he tasted Lance.   
Shiro’s eyes drop to his mouth, keeping his gaze there for a moment before he brings their lips together. Lance doesn’t bother with lying still. He wriggles his hips in Shiro’s grasp, rolling his hips as much as the limited movement will allow, revelling in the breathless moans he’s pulling from Shiro, licking into his mouthy. He’s being needy, he’s being horny and he’s getting it all in return.   
He rolls his hips down and Lance feels the shift, feels Daddy slip into him just that little bit further and “ _oh, oh Daddy, I’m coming, I’m coming!”_

Lance gasps out, his eyes going wide, head dropping back against the pillow, and suddenly everything’s not fuzzy anymore. Everything is in clear clarity, he can feel every place where Shiro touches him, feel every drop of sweat that rolls off his skin. He can feel the tie digging into his wrist and _yes,_ it hurts him but everywhere else feels better and he doesn’t want pain right now he wants Shiro and Shiro will give him pleasure.   
Shiro is making him come. 

Lance feels the heat inside him. Retracting from everywhere on his body, it surges into his stomach, lower to his groin into his dick and up. There’s tightness there, and Lance can feel the clenched grasp of Shiro’s hand, feel the slick of his own pre-come between the fingers.   
_“Let me come, Shiro,”_ he begs. Shiro growls, bowing over suddenly, teeth scraping at a soft spot on Lance’s neck. “It’s not Shiro, is it?” he asks, a touch of something to his tone. Lance whimpers, feeling the heat, feeling the need to release but having nowhere for it to go. 

“Daddy, daddy please!”   
“I’ll let you come,” Shiro breathes, but his hand hasn’t released and it’s not pumping anymore, it’s still and it is tight. “Wait for me, wait for Daddy. We’ll come together.” 

Shiro starts to pump his hips again and Lance swears he can see stars. The fussiness is coming back, and this time Lance falls into it with wide arms, desperate for the feeling of floating, of relinquishing control and just relishing the moment of being ravaged.   
Shiro feels so big each time he moves inside him, dragging in and out, their hips knocking together; not so much awkwardly as it is desperate, in an attempt to get closer. 

Shiro is the one in control once more. He’s the one who sets the pace, manoeuvring Lance however he wants. He pulls the boy’s legs around him, one on his hip, the other on his shoulder so that Lance is practically bent in half when Shiro leans in to claim lips. But Lance is limber and he’s all kinds of flexible.   
He doesn’t even notice the way his body is laid, focused only on feeling Shiro, letting him do with him what he will. 

Every thrust fills him up, jostles Lance upwards, taking tension off of the tie. The boy mistakes it for release and he pulls again, hoping to grab a fistful of the man’s hair, to run his finger’s down his spine and leaves scratches like kitten claw marks all over his back. 

_Mine. He’s all mine._

But Lance hands remain trapped and he’s left to make a destroyed sound as his attempts to free himself are foiled by that one fucking silk tie. 

Shiro looks up, attention called by the sound Lance made. It wasn’t one of pleasure, he knew that, and that’s what slows his motion, a hand reaching out to cup Lance’s chin. “Lance, are you okay?”   
“I want to come,” Lance whines back, shaking his chin free of Shiro’s grip, pressing it into his arm, biting down on the skin there because _god_ he wants to come and Shiro’s not letting him. “Daddy, let me come. I’ll be a good boy, I will, so please.” 

Shiro returns to the task of fucking Lance’s brains out, his prosthetic pressing bruises into his hipbones, lifting him up before slamming him back down onto his cock, over and over again, finally, _finally_ knocking right into Lance’s spot. “Daddy,” Lance gasps, “Daddy.” Shiro’s hips stutter at the word, determined to keep Lance moaning for him like that, his hands locked tight around waist and cock as he pounds away at his hole. “Fuck, look at you,” Shiro grunts, pitching forward.

Lance’s face flames at his own mewling, but he’s not ashamed at the sound, he’s ashamed how much it _turns him on._ His thighs quiver where they’re draped over Shiro’s shoulders, jiggling each time he slams back inside. “So good, you’re so good Daddy,” he purrs, watching as it nearly drove Shiro over the edge.   
“Yeah?” he’s panting, barely able to keep this up any longer. “Gonna come? Come with me, come with Daddy?”  
Lance feels himself nodding, his eyes clenched shut. Shiro grits his teeth, pumping his hips, if possible, even faster. 

“Let me come inside Baby.” Lance actually sobs, nodding his head frantically. If Daddy comes, then he gets to come and he wants to, _oh fucking god_ he wants to. 

Shiro abandons the hand around Lance’s dick, but the boy has enough sense to keep himself on the edge for a moment longer, gasping when his thighs are roughly pushed apart and Shiro is pounding deep inside him with a sense of urgency. 

Lance nearly screams, his cock twitching violently against his stomach, blushing and spurting so much pre-come, Lance thinks Shiro is going to wring him dry. 

"Ah- ah! Yes, that’s is Daddy, yea—” Lance cries out, his body seizing up, shuddering and sensitive. The heat is there, but it just won’t come, something is not— "Go on," Shiro murmurs. 

“Come for Daddy.” 

That does it. Those _fucking words_ are what makes him cum.   
On command, it’s like his entire body has submitted to Shiro’s rule and he’s only allowed to come when the man says. But he’s said so and Lance is coming, coming so hard his mind has gone utterly blank. The pressure from his dick is gone and he’s wet, his stomach is wet, every nerve on his body is ice and fire and electricity at the same time. 

Lance lays there, body still twitching, trembles running through his body. His arms hurt, his legs are aching but his mind is blissfully numb and he’s not really aware of Shiro. He can sense him there, he wants to look at him, wants to see him just as much of a mess as him, but nothing in him listens.   
It’s dark around the edge of his eyes and he’s tired, but it’s good and he’s… 

_Yeah, he’s good._

“Lance?” Shiro’s calling to him, he can hear it just on the edge of the fussiness. It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to look over, but when he does, it’s worth it. Shiro’s gaze is lightly hooded, a dopey smile plastered on his face. He looks as wrecked as Lance feels; his movements slow as he pulls out, crawling up to lay next to Lance, arms looped loosely around his middle.   
One hand has something in his hands and he’s wiping away Lance’s cum; a quick affair so he can snuggle in. 

“Was that good?” he asks, nuzzling his nose underneath one arm still raised, still caught in the trap of the silk tie. Lance will get him to untie, but right now he’s still basking in the high of an fucking good orgasm.   
He hums to Shiro to let him know he’s listening, eyes on the ceiling at the shapes of light cast from the window. Shadows are moving in the squares on the ceiling, and it takes a moment to realise it’s snowing again. Maybe it will snow hard enough that campus will close, and he’ll get to spend another day in bed.   
He’d like that.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro is the first to come out of their drowsy after-glow. Lance watches him sit up, moving to follow, but he can’t because his arms are still tied. He laughs at his own efforts, Shiro quick to kiss that beautiful smiling face before reaching up to release him.  
Somewhere, deep down inside he wishes he doesn’t have to. He wasn’t lying when he told Lance he wanted to trap him here, keep him hidden away from others that want him just as much as Shiro does. Not just his body, but his heart, his gaze, his _future._  
It’s the perfect moment, when they’re both sated from sex. Shiro can ask, _he should ask…_

The tie takes a little bit of effort untangling it from where Lance has tightened it with struggling. His arms fall tot eh pillow one free; limp, heavy and _red._  
Shiro frowns, taking both arms into his hands to inspect them. It’s dark in the room, and it worries him how clear that marks are on the soft tan skin. “Does it hurt?” he asks, biting on his lower lip, worried that Lance has been hurting as he wasn’t aware. A spike of fear tells him he was aware he just didn’t want to know, he just wanted to pound into Lance without a care to the boy. He just wanted a hole, a fuck toy a—

“No, it doesn’t hurt. I struggled too much, but that’ just cause I like holding onto you when you fuck me,” Lance says with a grin, eyes soft when he pulls back his arms to look at them. He can’t hold them up though, the things too heavy.   
The jokes don’t offer comfort however, and the coil of guilt tightens in Shiro’s stomach as he traces the skin with his fingers. He reaches the crease of wrist and hand and Lance hisses, immediately looking guilty. “It does hurt,” Shiro pressed, the coil in his stomach painfully tight.   
“It was my fault,” Lance says, sitting up now, all after-glow out the window. Any chance of asking is gone and Shiro isn’t quite sure what to do when Lance sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Hang on, we’ll put some cream on it.” Shiro stands from the bed, offering a hand to Lance. They’re going to have to shower anyway – he came inside – so it’s not like the older feels guilty he’s pulling Lance out of bed when he looks tired and he wants to sleep.   
Lance comes willingly, but he needs help walking. They’re at the bedroom door when his body goes tense, cheeks aflame. 

“Lance? What’s wrong.”   
“Nothing!” Lance yelps, but Shiro’s already looking him over. His own cheeks start glowing when he sees the trail of his own seed on the inside of Lance’s leg and the twitching of the boy’s dick because the sensation has got him turned on again.   
Shiro chuckles. “Was that not enough for you?” he asks with a pinch to the boy’s bum, practically cackling when Lance yelps again, breaking free from his grip to hurry into the bathroom across the hall. “Shiro you pervert!”   
“What happened to Daddy?” 

Lance replied with a strangled cry and Shiro was left laughing as he followed the boy into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I decided to use Coffee Puns for the titles, I didn't think how hard it was going to be. Here have another sucky one, and if anyone has any coffee related puns please throw them my way!


	10. Don't Worry, Be Frappe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance comes round on Friday, and it’s the first time that he’s stayed there for longer than an hour without having sex with Shiro. Probably because Shiro’s not here. Keith is though, and the two end up talking about something… serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less of the Porn, more of the Plot. Just subtle drops here and there.  
> Don't worry though, next chapter is planned to include smut, and something a little different from what the boys have been getting up to recently. (oω<)☆

**Friday 24th November**

Sitting in the waiting room is boring at best, but Shiro is used to the specialist ward, enough that he can make small talk with the nurses, all of whom he knows by name. Felicity is working the front desk, so the hour Shiro has to wait for Dr Coran isn’t all that boring, and he hears all about the gossip that goes on in the clinically clean halls.   
She has to go off for rounds at two though, so Shiro returns to the waiting area. He’s forgot his damn phone, so Sudoku and skimming the web is cleared from his to-do list.   
Instead the man is forced to skim the tabloids of the magazines that sit piled up on the middle table. 

Shiro doesn’t care for the gossip, and some of the magazine’s are months old. He reads the stories though, not really absorbing much, preferring instead to analyse the clothes in the photos. There are young male models up shit-creek for charges for something or other, but Shiro gives his focus to imagining Lance in their outfits rather than if they’re guilty or not.   
One is wearing yellow chinos that show off his legs, and already Shiro’s mind is in the gutter as he imagines Lance strutting about the house in them and nothing else. It brings up another thought. 

Ever since Lance mentioned the word _“Daddy”_ Shiro feels like he’s got something to live up to. It’s like, he suddenly wants to become, not just Lance’s boyfriend but a sugar daddy for him. Then he’s got an excuse to buy Lance nice clothes that show off his legs and his arms.   
It’s not like Shiro can’t afford it, and it might bring them closer, although it wouldn’t be using the road Shiro wants to take. He wants the two of them to start dating, god it’s screaming at him in the face. He can’t remember how many times he’s choked on _“I love you,”_ or how many times he has to turn loving moments into sexy ones, trying to hide his desire as something animalistic and perverted.   
It’s not him and it is hard knowing he’s literally lying to Lance, becoming something he’s not to keep the boy close. 

Shiro has spent long enough wondering if Lance would like him as the soft, loving boyfriend he really wants to be. 

“Ah, Shiro my boy!” Shiro looks up to the overly rambunctious sound of Dr. Coran, seeing the ginger haired ray of sunshine bound towards him, his trademark grin plastered wide across his face.   
Shiro stands, tossing the magazine back to its place on the misshapen pile on the table, grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. Dr Coran greets him with a firm handshake; much of the theatrics still in place as he leads back down the corridor to one of the reserved rooms. 

This was the second meeting this month.   
Although Shiro made weekly visits to the Physio Ward and the Recuperation Centre over on the other side of town, it wasn’t often he’d have to meet with Coran to check up on his arm and mental health concerning his time in the Forces.   
Today was actually scheduled from Coran’s end, although the specifics weren’t addressed in the email. Still, it couldn’t have fallen at a better time. 

“How have you been?” Coran asks once they’re in the room, seated in separate chairs in his sort-of office/lab.   
“Me personally, I’m good. It’s just this thing,” Shiro said, flicking his arm, the _dink!_ of metal carrying in the quiet room. “It’s locked up twice this week and the touch setting has been off. Before you ask, _no_ I did not spill coffee on it again when I was checking the battery. But I am wondering if water got into the system somehow because all the touch sensitivity is completely shot. I crushed a mug this morning just by picking it up.” 

Coran scowled at the news. “And the joint? No pain, no aches, twinges, numbness.”   
“Nope. Nothing that’s not self-inflicted.” The good Doctor raised an eyebrow at that. Shiro gave a quick smile with a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I’ve forgotten to take it off some nights, so the mornings are a little hell.” 

Coran was certainly not amused. “Shiro, you know that’s dangerous. Need I remind you how much stress the prosthetic puts on your shoulder, ergo your back. The explosion did enough damage as it is, please don’t help it by stressing your back again.”   
Shiro grimaced, hating that Coran brought up his circumstance. But then again, he knew that doing so would make Shiro listen. 

“It wasn’t on purpose Coran, I swear. It’s just, I’ve been with someone and sometimes my routine isn’t played out.”   
“You don’t want to freak them out with the whole one-arm thing,” the Doctor said softly. He wasn’t just a physiotherapist, he was also trained in psychology. Shiro wasn’t surprised when he hit the nail on the head.   
“Guess it’s weird for some people when it’s not a part of their daily life.” Coran nodded sympathetically, pushing himself closer with a gesture for Shiro to remove his shirt so they could begin the examination. 

“Anything other than the extended periods of wearing the arm?”   
“Not that I can— oh wait, yeah. I’ve had to adjust the strap several times this month. It kept slipping and the thing has pinched my skin while I’m at work. Nothing major, but it’s painful.” Coran hummed, pulling up the elasticised strap that covered the join of flesh and metal. “It looks off somehow. Does it feel alright?”  
“Yeah. Like I said, the only problem is the touch sensitivity and the elbow joint locking up.” 

Coran runs all the normal function tests, frowning as the limb locks twice in the normal stretch routine. Then, he was surprised to see the indents on the baseball he’d asked Shiro to pick up.   
“And this is normal.”   
“Not really. It only screwed up on the pressure thing this morning, but to be honest, I’ve kind of put off using it today,” Shiro admits, finally unlatching the underside of the prosthetic to get to the screws that hold it in place on the metal implant that’s drilled to his shoulder bone.   
The arm is taken off, leaving Coran free access to the stump Shiro has trouble looking at, even now. 

“Are you sure it’s for your partners sake you’re not removing your arm?”  
Shiro says nothing to that. 

He has to wait at the hospital longer than he intended, because Coran called up Lt. Holt, the scientist responsible for Shiro’s state-of-the-art arm. Shiro actually did his two tours with the Lieutenant as his commanding officer. Then, following the ambush attack, Lt. Holt retired from active duty and returned to scientific research and helps revolutionise prosthetics. Shiro was spearheading the research for the “Brachium Department,” with trialling the new technology in daily life.   
Although this technology, _version 1.2,_ barely lasted half the life of its predecessor.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Four months, that’s a new record.”  
Shiro turned to the sound of Dr. Holt, greeting him with a grin. “Samuel, how are you?” The man was quick to return the grin, sitting himself in an empty chair, putting down a bulky briefcase beside him. “Good, good. Coran tells me you’re not doing well though.”  
“I’m doing fine. It’s just your arm has been playing up,” Shiro said, pointing to the metallic limb sat on Coran’s desk. “Locked up on my twice and the—”  
“Touch calibration has been off, Coran told me. It’s not all bad news though,” the man said with a smile, tapping his briefcase. “Got your new arm here, hot off the press. Same style as the old one, just a little bit of change to the inner mechanics to prevent any lock-ups and the touch pads have been enlarged, so you’ll get feeling on the back of your hand now. Entire thing is encased in a silicone sleeve underneath the protective shell, so if there any problems, it does mean you’ll have to come here, or to my lab,” the man rambled.

Shiro was happy to let Samuel chat away. He was happy to trial the new arm, and had been waiting for the scientist for a good part of the afternoon. He didn’t particularly mind, having spent it catching up with Coran, meaning their next meeting would be pushed back until mid-December. 

Coran leaves the pair when Shiro slots the new arm onto his fixing. He’s happily surprised to find it is lighter than the old one, and listens to Samuel’s excited ramble about hollow metal and the way the arm was now wired and such. Most of it went over his head, but Shiro entertained his old friend long enough that when he glanced to the windows, it was dark outside.   
“Sam, it’s good to talk and all, but I’ve got a friend coming round tonight. Any chance we can catch up over coffee?”   
“Your place then,” Sam says with a wink, packing up the old arm, wanting it for diagnostic tests and the like. “You’re welcome whenever. And thanks for the upgrade. Pidge will be happy to have something new to poke holes in.” 

The older didn’t bother suppressing a smile. “Oh, I doubt they’ll be poking holes in that. It was designed by Pidge after all. And, what do you know, they’re already helping design the next one.”   
“Well when you guys do, any chance you can build a phone into the forearm display screen. A watch and timer are all well and good, but I’d prefer the functions of an Iphone.”  
“All in good time, my dear boy.” 

With a wave and the promise that he’ll see the scientist sometime in the next two weeks, Shiro leaves the specialised department, heading to the ground floor. He’s walking down the corridor just outside the Hospital’s cafeteria when a familiar voice calls his name. “Shiro!” 

The man turns, spotting his friend, Kaiden, wheeling his way towards him. “Finally out of bed you lazy bum,” Shiro grins, catching Kaiden’s hand in greeting, before hitting their forearms together in the way they always used to back in the Army. The same coil of guilt tightens in Shiro’s gut at seeing his friend still wheelchair bound.   
But it’s better than where Kuro is. 

“I haven’t seen you much this month. Where have you been?”   
“Ah, work got busy and I…” Shiro looked away, catching himself. It felt wrong to talk about the good things in his life when Kaiden was still here, trapped in the hospital. He usually came to see him and others in the same predicament. It did them well for pep talks, and it kept Shiro’s own morale high. He may have been out of the fighting, but he was still doing his part. 

“Oho, don’t tell me Mr _I’m-to-good-for-you_ Shiro has finally found someone? Way to go man. Finally dusting off the cobwebs?”   
“Watch it Kaiden. You might be tough, but I can still take you if needs be,” Shiro laughed, the bite to his words only said jokingly. Kaiden joined in, shrugging at the threat.   
“But yeah, congrats man. And you might want to return that. Seems like I’ve caught someone’s eye too.”   
“Do I hear wedding bells?”   
“Piss off.” 

There’s a lot to catch up on with Kaiden, but the boy is able to see Shiro’s want to leave. “Well, I have a hot date with a nurse and a walking frame. You look like you could book in a few more hours sleep, so I’ll let you go. But next time you’re in, we’re celebrating. Bring us some brownies from your café. I haven’t had a decent chocolate fix since they took out the vending machines.”   
“You got it dude. And I want to see you walking next time I’m in.”   
“Now you’re asking for a miracle,” Kaiden shot back, already wheeling himself away, whistling a tune as he went. 

Shiro leaves the hospital, heading to his car in the parking lot. He’s in a good mood, which isn’t’ always the case when he comes out the hospital. It’s to no fault of Sam or Coran; just the place brings back bad memories. But tonight, Lance is waiting for him at home, and right now he’s missing holding the boy in his arms.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance nearly tripped when he walked through the door. Blu has come to greet him, but then so had practically everyone else; the inquisitive little shits determined to get a good look in his bags. “Oi, oi there’s nothing for you,” Lance scolded when he almost stood on Ashes’ tail, who was clawing at the plastic that held dinner, although not his. “Ginger, Moggy, c’mon move.”  
“Need a hand?”

Lance looked up, grinning when Keith came towards him, holding out a hand for one of the bags. “Thanks. Managed to get you some chilli popcorn, but they were out of the biscuit things.”  
“They’re cakes, how many times do we have to have this argument? Jaffa. _Cake._ It’s even got it in the name.”   
Lance just pouted playfully. “Whatever. Anyways, Shiro still not back?” 

Keith shook his head, taking the other bag so Lance could say hello to the rest of the cats that wormed round his legs, trying to trip him up. “No. I thought he’d be back by four, but something must’ve kept him.”   
“Where is he anyway? He invited me round about eleven, but then he hasn’t replied all day.”   
“Yeah, the dumb shit left his phone here. It wasn’t bad; I had Matt and Allura in in-case it got busy, but just took me a day out the study.” Keith continued to grumble about how Shiro was meant to be the responsible one, who was obviously failing at it considering Lance had to go grocery shopping for them because he forgot. 

For a while now, Keith was staying at the house whenever Lance came round. It wasn’t always – sometimes he was out of town due to work, but lately, Lance and Shiro weren’t fucking in an empty apartment.   
Keith liked to make things awkward by dropping jokes now and again, but he wasn’t against the pair seeing one another, so Lance didn’t see any harm in joining in and making Shiro feel embarrassed at the dinner table. 

One of the café workers was still there, helping wipe down the sides, so Lance ushered the cats upstairs out of his and Keith’s way, promising to make a start on dinner.   
Keith came up at quarter past seven, glaring at the clock with disguised confusion. “I would’ve thought him home by now. It couldn’t have changed, not since last month,” he muttered to himself, turning the glare on the discarded mobile on the living room table. Black was sat next to it, batting it with her paw. 

“Where did he go?”  
“Delivery,” Keith mumbled, looking a little lost in his own house, eyes skimming from phone to calendar then to Lance. He wasn’t worried or anything, just confused. And a little annoyed he couldn’t get into contact with Shiro. He sent another glare in the mobile’s direction. 

“Dinner will be ready in ten. You think he’ll be home by then?”  
“God knows.”

Shiro wasn’t home by the time Lance started serving. Nor was he home when the boys were washing up. His dinner, covered with cling film, was stored in the fridge, leaving Keith and Lance to take up space on the couch. They couldn’t decide on a film at first, settling finally on ‘The Last Samurai’, which involved a lot of opinionated commentary from the pair of them.   
By the time Tom Cruise was waking up in the Samurai village, Lance was starting to get a little antsy. 

“Where was he delivering to? Kentucky?” Keith answered with a shrug of the shoulders, helping himself to another handful of spicy popcorn. “Didn’t ask for details. Don’t worry about him he’s fine. He’s probably forgot you’re coming round tonight and Allura has finally convinced him to hit the town with her. She’s been bugging him long enough he might just be starting to crack.”   
“I’m surprised he hasn’t taken Matt up on an offer yet. I swear he asks every night.”  
“Every other night,” Keith corrected, flicking the TV on pause. He began to fidget with the remote, dropping it in favour of his mobile, but he didn’t turn it on or anything. 

Instead, Keith shuffled in his seat, turning so his back was against the arm, body facing Lance completely. The Cuban raised an eyebrow, curious to the display, but said nothing. If he was right with his assumptions, Keith wanted to say something. 

“Has… um, has Shiro talked to you recently?”   
Lance raised an eyebrow. “Yes we’ve talked, but to what subject you’re implying, you’ll have to be a little more specific.”   
“About me.” 

Keith was… _off._  
Over the weeks, Lance had been around enough that he considered the Mullet his friend; one that needed reminders that such hairstyles were out of date and he’d look at least twenty percent cooler without the Mel Gibson wig.   
So, it wasn’t really hard to see that he was out of character right now. His fingers kept tapping on his phone, dropping it to rub at the back of his neck, and the way he refused to look up. He was nervous about something. 

Keith’s nervousness made Lance feel uneasy.  
“Dude, you okay? You look like you’re about to burst into flame.” 

Mullet laughed at that, uncurling himself where he’d brought his legs up to hide behind them. “I just… I’ve been talking to Shiro recently, trying to get him on my side and I was wondering if he’d spoke to you about it.”  
“Again, not really sure what we’re talking about.” 

Keith looked up. “I was thinking about enlisting.”   
Lance felt his eyes go wide. Keith was watching him, waiting for a reaction. By his body language; he was waiting for Lance to explode. 

“I’m guessing Shiro wasn’t all too pleased with the idea.”   
“You have no idea.” Keith let his head roll back against the sofa, eyes closed so the lights wouldn’t blind him as his face stared up. “Like, I know that he had a bad experience—”  
“That’s putting it lightly,” Lance muttered, turning back to the TV to the still of Katsumoto looking displeased. “Yeah, okay, he lost an arm. _But he didn’t die._ He came home and he gets to live his life. But I want to do my part too. He tells me I can’t—”  
“But it’s still your choice,” Lance cut in, having already heard this speech. Not from Keith, but Luis, some ten years prior, when he was ten and his sixteen year old brother had fought his father on enlisting rather than going into the work force. “It’s your choice and you’re old enough that you can make the decision for yourself,” he said, turning back to Keith, who looked quite shocked at the lack of fighting on Lance’s behalf. 

“But you have to be ready to accept the consequences. Shiro got off light compared to some. Yes, he lost an arm, but look at him. He didn’t bring back any emotional trauma, he’s got a full time job where he’s the boss, he’s already got an apartment and although the injury is fixed somewhat with a prosthetic, he’s managing with it.   
“If you go into the army, get deported and things go sucky for you, you have to accept what you’ll lose out there. It might just be that you get nightmares once in a while, it might be that you also get blown up or shot at and you lose a limb. Or, you might die.   
And you leave Shiro and everyone else wishing that they had done everything in their power to stop you from going.” 

Keith didn’t say anything as he stared at his feet, a scowl working its way on his face.   
Lance continued. “I’m not telling you what to do. But before you make your decision; regard every side before you go gallivanting off to be a hero.” 

They sat in silence for a while, staring, not at each other, but at inanimate objects. Lance tried to read the atmosphere, recalling his words, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing—  
“You’re pretty level headed about all this.”   
“I have a brother in the Armed Forces. He’s been deployed several times since he joined up. He’s on his third trip to the Middle East. He’s due home in March, so he’s missing Christmas and his daughter’s second birthday, but he’s happy to live with those sacrifices.” 

Lance took a chance to look at Keith. He’s watching Lance, wearing the same inquisitive expression Shiro wears when he’s trying to catch Lance out in an eye. _Like brother, like baby brother._

“He’s older than you?”   
“By nine years. Luis is the oldest, and he’s been in service since he was seventeen. He had to get my Da’s permission. I think they fought over it for a good six months. Luis even threatened to pack up and leave, planning to slum it until his eighteenth. Mama wouldn’t stand for that, so she gave Da a good thrashing till he accepted.”   
Lance laughed at the memory, falling back into that quiet comfort, ignoring the ache of longing somewhere around his mid-drift. “Luis met Donnie in his third year when he transferred up to Pendleton. Donnie is Maya’s husband; my older sister. He’s just in the reserves now cus’ Ems fell pregnant again after their first.” 

The more Lance spoke about his family, the more he wanted to see them. He swallowed the longing down, keeping his voice normal as he kept up conversation.   
It was kind of funny really. Keith suddenly knew more about Lance and his family than Shiro did, even though it was Shiro who Lance came to see. 

_And speaking of the devil…_

The downstairs door slammed shut, announcing someone was either really badly breaking in, or Shiro was home. He came up the stairs to the audience of the cats meowing at him, Lance and Keith lifting their heads from the back of the sofa.   
“Hey, sorry got held up,” he said in apology, coming over to dump his jacket and scarf on the spare lounger. There was a glance to Keith, who wasn’t looking at him. Lance took the attention by standing. “Dinner’s in the fridge. Are you hungry now or want to wait.”  
“Food sounds good,” Shiro hummed, leaning over the back of the sofa, catching Lance’s lips before he knew what was happening. It had him blushing, deepened when Keith made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Eww! Too much PDA. Shiro, you’re ruining the movie so stop distracting Lance, and I can teach him the finesse of sword fighting.”   
“Teach me? You could stand to learn a lesson with a sword and finally chop off that god-awful mullet.” 

Lance copies Keith and flips him the bird before joining Shiro at the table after heating up dinner. “Long day?” he asks, grabbing a fork so he can snatch mouthfuls. It’s been an hour since he ate and the smell of the stir fry is working up his appetite again.   
“Not really. It was just more of waiting around for people, and I forgot my phone so it wasn’t like I could distract myself.”   
“Was it really that boring?” Lance nicked another mouthful when Shiro wasn’t looking. He had his phone out, catching up to the texts and updates and what not. Lance just grinned when he was able to take another mouthful, smile widening when Shiro looked at him, confused. “What?”  
“Nothing.”   
“I am listening, I just…” he trailed off, sighing. “Okay, sorry no I didn’t hear you.”   
Lance just shrugged, offering a piece of cooked carrot to Blu who sat near his foot. “I just asked if it was boring.”   
“If what was boring?”  
“Work.”   
“Why would work be boring?” 

Lance raised an eyebrow, not quite sure how the pair could be lost in the simple conversation. “Work. As in where you were today. Keith said you were out making deliveries, although why a café needs to make deliveries, I’m not sure.”   
“Ah, yeah, uh, deliveries,” Shiro coughed, glancing quickly to the back of Mullet’s head who was watching the end of the samurai flick. “Keith told you.”   
“Yeah, when I turned up and you weren’t here.” Lance tried to keep a straight face, turning his gaze to Blu who meowed for another treat. 

It wasn’t hard to tell that Shiro was lying. He’d been somewhere else today, not making deliveries.   
It wasn’t like Lance had any right to know, but for him to obviously be lying… it felt like… well, it felt wrong.   
A slap to the face. A reminder just where the line was in this give and take relationship.   
Personal enough that the two sleep together, but not personal enough that Shiro doesn’t reveal everything about himself. 

It was fair.   
Still, it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Note:  
> I am not a doctor. I do not have any prosthetic limbs and there are little instructions on the internet concerning extended use and the like so this chapter is a little on the touch-and-go side. 
> 
> And yes, _naughty naughty,_ Authors and Writers are meant to do a lot of research on things, but honestly, I just want to get this out and come back to editing and refining once it’s completed. It’s how I work and how I keep myself motivated. 
> 
> That said, if anyone does know anything or wants to correct my mistakes, I would gladly accept a detailed lecture so I can make my writing better. 
> 
> But for now, let’s pretend that I know what I’m talking about.  
> Or we can go with Alternate Universe rules, and this is just what happens in _this_ particular universe. 
> 
> Much love.


	11. A Whole Latte Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night see the boys on the sofa, with a little less of the lust, and a little more love.   
> Shiro sees a moment he’s been looking for since the beginning.   
> And this time, he’s going to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my plan has taken an unexpected turn. I said this was going to be smut, but sorry that’s been moved to the next chapter.

**Friday 24th November**

The two of them started by sitting beside one another on the sofa, Lance lazily pressed up against Shiro, the two of them just soaking up the atmosphere of movie night rather than their usually Friday night activities. 

Between the end of _‘The Last Samurai’_ and a third of the way through _‘The Magnificent Seven,’_ Keith snuck out. Neither noticed, only looking up at one point because he hadn’t answered a question referring to the plotline; only to find Keith’s space empty.   
Shiro saw no reason to initiate some sexy touch-time, instead reaching over to the lounger and grabbing one of the throws. He kicked it over his legs, dragging Lance to lie down beside him.   
The boy was all too happy to snuggle, head resting on Shiro’s chest as the movie continued to play, the odd comment or question dropped here or there. 

About half way through they got distracted by one another again, lazy kisses traded back and forth whilst cowboys shot up the TV, two bottles of beer and a bowl of spicy popcorn taking residence on the coffee table. 

A loud crack of thunder jolted Lance from a kiss; the Cuban almost falling from where he had been laid on Shiro. He managed to catch the boy though, cringing when he used his prosthetic, the tendril of fear causing him to check he hadn’t squeezed too tight when the boy was once again laid on top of him.   
“And here I was hoping it was just going to be another snowstorm,” Lance moaned, peeling himself off the sofa to get a look at the downpour outside. Lightning flashed in the clouds on the horizon. They’d been growing for most of the afternoon, building with the torrent winds that made grocery shopping a bitch to walk home with. 

“Not a big fan of thunderstorms?” Shiro asked, coaxing Lance back under the throw. He was sat up a little more now, drinking from his bottle. Or it could’ve been Lance’s. It didn’t really matter. 

“I don’t mind them,” Lance says, hooking up the second bottle. There’s not much in the bottom so he downs it, pouting before continuing, “but it’s a real pain to walk home in.”  
“You know you don’t have to go.”   
“No, I suppose not,” Lance smiles, sitting himself on Shiro’s lap, back pressed to broad chest as hands wind around him tucking the blanket back around them, attention back to the film. 

Thunder rumbles again and this time, it’s Shiro who can’t keep himself from tensing up. “Jumpy,” Lance remarks casually. “Fuck you,” Shiro snubs defensively, but he’s wearing a grin.   
Lance’s is wider, adopting a British accent. “And deny you the honours? Why good sir, you think too little of me.” He leans in for another kiss, tasting like beer and spicy snacks that leave Shiro licking his lips when they’re parted.   
Lance pulls a face as if he’s thinking. “But well, if you don’t want to, I’m sure I can find myself a willing partner.” 

The thought pulls a growl from Shiro and he’s grabbed the back of the boy’s neck to get a test of lips, chin, neck, ears. “Am I not enough for you?”   
“Yes,” Lance breathes, a shiver running through his body. He’ll never admit it out loud, but teasing Shiro like this, making him show his possessive side is just as endearing as the man confessing to him. 

Kisses are as far as Shiro takes it, fingers brushing Lance’s fringe from his eyes where there lounging has turned his hair into a nest of unkempt bed head. He yawns a few times whilst Shiro strokes him, he himself not really paying attention to the patterns he draws over the boy’s skin, the trail of goose bumps he leaves.   
He’s not trying to tickle Lance, or be sexual; he’s just touching him, feeling the shape of the boy that lies against him, getting to know him like the way a sculptor uses their hands to ingrain love into their work. 

Shiro took note of the scar hidden under the boy’s lip: Lance got it when he face planted his surfboard when his older brother was teaching him how to ride a wave.   
The little ridge on his collar bone is from when he dislocated his shoulder in a skate bowl in California. There’s a few littering his chest and stomach; the biggest from and operation after he contracted appendicitis.   
Shiro trails his fingers down the boy’s spine, noting the small bruise on his hip where he keeps walking into the railing by the stairs, the light scratches on his forearms when he got between Tiger and Socks’ earlier fight. 

There’s more to learn, so much more, but Shiro is happy to take his time. It’s not something to be rushed; falling in love.  
Although, _he’s already fallen._

Thunder rumbles in the dark outside, the distant flashes beginning to get quicker as the storm moves closer. Shiro eyes the window darkly, wanting to draw the curtains, yet not wanting to break himself from Lance. It’s warm and it’s comfortable.   
Lance hasn’t said anything in a while, so perhaps he’s asleep. 

Shiro doesn’t move.   
He lets his eyes return to the desert lighting up his TV, the soft colours of oranges and yellows lighting the room. He had turned the main light off before settling on the couch, cleared up dinner before joining Lance. There’s nothing pressing to do, not that he wants to leave here, but there’s something in the back of his mind. 

Pressure. Fear. 

He knows it’s the thunder.   
He knows it’s the memories he has denied recollection since returning home. The same memories that bring Kaiden, Kuro, Thace and the others into his mind. _He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want to go there, he can’t—_

Suddenly, thunder rips through the street outside, enough that it makes his ears ring.   
Shiro sits bolt upright, arms still around Lance so he doesn’t throw him to the floor from the sudden shift. “Woah, that was loud,” he laughed, voice and octave higher than usual.   
Rain pelts the window where the storm has finally decided to break, the pressure dropping from release. It’s not perfect, but there is relief, and Shiro sighs, forehead on Lance’s back, arms still around him. Embarrassment hides his face again and he’s nuzzling the soft material of Lance’s jumper. 

“Better?” Lance asks softly, turning around where he’s perched in the man’s lap so he can hold his jaw with a hand. His fingers are smooth and soft, Shiro leaning into the touch with closed eyes as Lance’s thumb ghosts over his chin, pressing light at the corners of his mouth.   
“Yeah.” Shiro turns slightly, allowing lips to meet wrist and he kisses the skin he can find before looking up with puppy dog eyes. “Guess I don’t do too well in thunderstorms either.” 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Lance says softly, petting Shiro softly, the other hands coming up to play with the hair on the back of his neck, like he likes to do. “I’m still scared of hospitals, and I’m not too fond of the dentists either. Even though they’re there to help, I can’t help but be frightened, although it’s not like I have bad memories.” He’s not meeting Shiro’s eyes when he says this, but he knows the boy isn’t lying. 

Shiro took Lance’s hand in his own, tilting his head again to lace little butterfly kisses on the skin, over little scars from childhood, nicks and burns on fingers from times he’s been too scatter-brained in the kitchen. More stories shared in the moments before or after, but shared nonetheless.   
All of them make up this boy he loves, and so is the story behind his fears. 

“Will you tell me?” he asks, tilting his head, no longer kissing the boy’s inner arm as he tries to catch his gaze instead. Lance had returned it to the TV, where the final showdown had begun. Shiro isn’t sure if it’s a trick of the light, or a side effect from the beer and kisses, but his eyes are watery. 

“An eye for an eye?” Lance offers a compromise of sorts. Of course he is curious.   
Not that Shiro has ever held anything back from him, but Lance was always conscious of being polite and well-mannered. Perhaps he had been holding back. 

“An eye for an eye.” 

Lance nods, but he doesn’t speak straight away. His teeth have found purchase on his bottom lip and it keep him from speak before he’s fully thought out the question.   
Shiro returns to the TV, allowing the boy time. But not before saying, “you don’t have to tell me. But you can still ask anything you want.” It gets him no response, and although the silence isn’t usual between the pair of them, it doesn’t have Shiro worried.   
Something like this was bound to appear, hell, he’s closed up plenty of time to Keith and everyone else, and they to him.   
Instead, it makes him happy at how their relationship is improving.   
And with another step, he can. 

“I want to change my question.” 

Lance looks to Shiro, his frown smile not reaching further than the corner of his mouth. He makes to speak, but another roll of thunder shakes the windows, the lightning snapping with such ferocity that the TV dies, plunging the room into darkness. 

“Shit,” Lance breathes, jumping himself. The warmth from Shiro’s lap disappeared. 

“This storm really has it out for us” he says somewhere from the darkness. “I’m usually… okay with thunder so… I don’t quite know…” he mumbles. “Let’s just… let’s just go to bed. Okay?” Shiro moves to find him, but he must’ve done is at the same time, because suddenly there’s a face in his face and they collide; foreheads glancing off one another in the dark   
Shiro yelps and pulls back. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to!” 

Lance is hasty in apologising too; hands groping the darkness, crawling forward on the sofa. He puts his hand down on something warm and hard though and he’s blushing before he thinks to pull back. “Hello there,” Lance laughs slightly, withdrawing the hand only for it to be caught in a metal grip.   
Shiro doesn’t want this to follow the usual path the two would normally follow. Instead he wanted them to return to the peaceful quiet they had before. 

Lance moves before Shiro can; shifting his position, pulling Shiro upright more. He leans in, slow at first, trying to gauge where the man is in all his handsome glory. Trailing touches feel their way up from arm, to shoulder. Then down to collar, where fingers skilfully unbutton the shirt that hides hot skin and closer touches. 

“Lance.”

Fingers still, and in the light of a lightening crash, Shiro can see the silhouette of the boy even closer now. The words he wants to say are syrup in his throat, thick and suffocating. 

“I… Lance I…”   
But the words just won’t come.   
Lance shuffles in front of him, unsure if he’s done something wrong. Shiro has never said no or turned him down, so he’s probably thinking the wrong thing.   
Shiro reaches out for his other hand, cringing from the clamminess of his skin. Lance can tell he’s nervous, not just from his hands. “Shiro? What’s wrong, what’s the matter?”   
“Nothing is wrong. I’m just...”  
 _Scared._

“Go out with me.” 

It’s said in a rush of air, desperate and needy, but this is what Shiro has wanted to say since Lance walked into his Café, and now he’s about to bumble it all up because, _shit he doesn’t know what to say next!_  
Lance speaks first.   
“Wha-what?” He’s laughed nervously halfway through, breaking the word into two, not quite sure what Shiro means, and sure, he hasn’t really elaborated, but _c’mon Lance it should be obvious. I’m a nervous wreck here; help me out a little will you?_

“Go out with me. We can go out, we don’t always have to stay here,” Shiro says, tumbling over his words because he’s not quite sure what he should be saying. He knows what he’s trying to get at, he wants Lance to date him, but that all important words has completely left his brain.   
“I don’t just want to spend all my time here. I want to go out with you, to pubs and stuff. We can go for dinner or the movies or your place.” He’s speaking fast, too fast for Lance to get a word in, but the boy isn’t trying. He’s just sat listening, or Shiro thinks he’s listening because his silhouette is still facing him. 

“Lance, go out with me.”   
He’s not able to withstand the silence between them, and in a moment of what could only be noted as panic, Shiro leaned forward, tilts his head slightly and presses his lips to Lance’s. He’s not backing out, he’s just trying to convey what he really needs to say out loud.  
The Cuban lets out a startled gasp at the sudden change and Shiro leans in a little more, his hand coming up from between Lance’s wrist, and touching the boy’s jaw. Lance melts under his touch and within a second he’s kissing back.  
 _Lance is kissing him back._

Shiro doesn't have words for how he feels. He’s kissing Lance, but suddenly it’s not like all the times before.   
They’ve kissed plenty of times, but it’s always like he was holding back, playing the game of hot and heavy lust, kissing the boy as a part of their game of bodies. 

But this time, it’s so much _more._  
It’s like Shiro is falling in love again, and although he can’t see in the dark, he can see Lance perfectly in his mind. The slight curls of his hair where the lengths creep down his neck, the blush on his cheeks that is drawn from too little air and too much tongue in a battle of control. 

They come apart a little, foreheads resting together as they come up for air. Shiro has his hands on the boy’s hips, feels Lance’s on his neck and they’re leaning in again, one and the same movement. He’s still scared, still worried that once the break this kiss, once this moment is over there will be words and talking and questions.   
Right now he doesn’t want to talk. He just wants Lance. 

Shiro kisses him a little deeper and Lance sighs and lets Shiro’s tongue in. He wants to communicate just how much this means, that Lance accepting him… They may have started out, not as much as friends, but strangers.   
Yet Shiro never thought Lance a stranger. He was the boy that showed him the ladder at the bottom of the well, and although he may not even remember that measly dollar that bought him a ride home and a wakeup call, he’s grateful. 

If he had to fall in love with anyone he's so glad that it's Lance. He doesn't want to lose what they have already built in the time spent together, but now they can build on it. Now they can become a proper couple and there is so much more for the pair of them to discover and learn about the other. 

Shiro is giddy. The kiss is broken all too soon, but he’s panting for air he wishes he didn’t need right now because he just wants Lance, he just wants to kiss Lance, he’s got everything he’s ever wanted, _he just wants Lance and nothing else._

Eventually they have to pull apart and Lance’s hands are no longer around Shiro’s neck, but placed uncertainly over Shiro’s. The man doesn’t remove his hands though, although, that doesn’t seem to be what Lance wants. 

“That was… _different?”_ Lance says softly, tone a little more certain than the touch his fingers tell. Shiro tries to smile, but he’s too busy panting. “Was that… good different?” he asks breathlessly.   
A note of fear strikes him. The kiss is broken. What about… what about them? What about the two of them? 

Lance kissing him back should’ve been answer enough, but Shiro can’t let go of the fear that Lance is going to break the hold and walk away, right out the door, and right out of Shiro’s life…. 

Love hadn’t been part of the deal.   
It hadn’t been a part of the equation when they started playing this game, but now that Shiro had brought it up. Dating included love. Lust, obviously would continue, they’d already reached an understanding in the bedroom. Now it was up to everything else that didn’t hide behind closed doors. 

“Shiro—”  
“We’re… we’re still good, _right?”_ Shiro questions before Lance can confirm his doubts. “Nothing’s changed between us. We’re still…”   
“Still friends,” Lance finishes for him, his tone not quite Shiro was expecting, but they’re both out of breath and this is a big change in their relationship so, Lance might not sound just what he thinks it should be. But the boy sounds happy, his hands still on Shiro. 

“Nothing’s changed.” 

Lance is close enough, he is practically painting the words on Shiro’s lips, and before he can say, do or move; Lance is kissing him again. 

To Shiro's surprise, Lance pushes himself into it more than before, surging forward with strength that topples the startled man back onto the arm of the sofa, arms disappearing from Lance’s hips to settle himself.   
Lance pours himself into the kiss, hands roaming over Shiro’s body like honey, melting into him, soaking into every pore until all Shiro can think, feel, see, touch and taste is Lance. He feels like a virgin, mind well and truly fucked as Lance is desperate to occupy the same space. He’s too rushed, too brash and teeth knock together.   
Still the kiss doesn’t break. 

Hands glide graceful but powerful over his torso, up to his neck, down between thighs; everywhere and anywhere that Lance can touch. There’s desperation from him, like this is all he’s wanted from the beginning too, and Shiro just relaxes into the idea that this isn’t something he should’ve been worrying about. He could scold himself for taking so long, but what was the point, when Lance was here, wanting him as much as he wants Lance. 

It’s dark in the room, but not like before, where it was so dark he could’ve fooled himself into believing he was wearing a blindfold. Lance is still partially nothing but darkness, but memory supplies the colour the storm has taken from them.   
Tan skin, lightly dusted with umber freckles between the pale lines of thin scars. Bronze hair that tickles Shiro’s hands when he cards them through the locks. The smell of the boy’s scent; the sea and candyfloss, the taste of beer and popcorn on his lips. 

Shiro can feel the thudding of the boy’s heart as Lance moves closer, arms leaving Shiro for the moment to undress himself; fingers desperate to get Shiro’s off him too. He has a thigh between Shiro’s legs, and the way that he leans forward to help pull arms from the confines of sleeves; it is the perfect kind of pressure. 

Something stirs Shiro from his quiet. Now he’s pushing back, a perfect balance of tug and war as clothes are strewn haphazardly from the couch as Shiro bundles Lance into his arms.   
Neither are naked yet, bottom halves still dressed as Shiro carries Lance from the living room up to the bedroom where he can make love to his boyfriend. 

_Finally._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to SinMint for the Chapter Title \\(o‿o✿)/
> 
> And thank you to everyone else who comments and leaves Kudos, it really helps me stay motivated and keeps me focused on this Fanfiction.   
> All my love (´ 3 ` )♡


	12. Coffee Under The Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Sunday. _Date night._  
>  The first proper date for the boys, and Shiro wants it to be a fun and memorable date.  
> It could be … If Lance would stop distracting him for just one second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro wants to be the smooth, suave boyfriend, but Lance just won't let him...

**Sunday 25th November**

Shiro cursed again when he pulled his fringe back with the comb, trying to get it to settle the way he likes it. His hair wasn’t going to play ball.   
It wasn’t a _complete_ disaster however, considering every other aspect of him resembled a decently handsome man – or it would when he’s dressed. But right now, he was focused on trying to wrangle his fringe into something stylish.   
Instead the damn things insisted on flopping down in his eyes because he hadn’t bothered to dry it right away once he had jumped out the shower. 

“Need any help there handsome?”  
“Allura! What are you doing here?”   
She’s leant against the doorframe, working her favourite pair of faded-at-the-knee pink dungarees; hair braided and pulled back out her face to reveal the smirk she’s failing to conceal as Shiro turns to her, blushing because she’s caught him before he could put his trousers on. And the girl isn’t shy when she starts eyeing up his sushi print boxers.

“I’m going out tonight,” Shiro said quickly, quicker still from embarrassment as he grabs a towel and slips it around his lower half. “Keith’s in so he can hang, but I can’t—”  
“Yeah, I know, Keith was the one that called us up.”  
“Us?”  
“Pidge and Matt came too. We wanted to go to the Blue Diamond, but Keith said he didn’t feel like hitting the town tonight, but he still wants to hang because, and I quote _“big brother is ditching me for his boy toy.”_ Allura’s smirk grew, but she glossed over the joke with a simple, “that cold must really be bugging him if he’s openly admitting defeat to it.”   
She enters the bathroom then, guiding Shiro to perch on the side of the bath, laughing when Shiro scrambles for the towel that slips slightly, trying to gain some purchase of normality on his face, wondering just when it got so hot in here. 

“So~” Allura sung, grabbing the styling gel from beside the sink, performing the art of styling Shiro’s hair into something more than just a quick slick back and too much gel it’s got him looking a little greasy.   
She was an absolute godsend, although just as much as a whore for gossip as Matt, and just like him, was unable to stay quiet for long. 

“So I’m going to assume this boy toy is Lance?”   
Shiro blushed, but he couldn’t help the soft smile recalling memories of Friday night. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, but he doesn’t feel sick. In fact, he loves the feeling.   
“Actually, yeah. He’s letting me take him out for dinner.”   
“Oh?”

Unlike Matt, Allura had a knack of getting Shiro to spill without actually saying anything. She pinned him down with hands in his fringe, combing his hair to way she’d style it. As a budding beautician and makeup artist, Shiro was happy to let her take over as he talked, playing right into the girls hands.   
“Yeah, I asked him Saturday morning when he woke up. I’m not going to see him all of next week because it’s coming up to the end of the month. I’m going to be busy with preparing the Café for Christmas, and he’s got end of term exams or reviews. I can’t remember the details, but he’s cramming his work so he can go home for the holidays. He wants to see his family.” 

Allura hummed to every third word or so, rinsing her hands so she could fix Shiro’s tie. The man had tied it fine, but in his hurry, it wasn’t as neat as it could be. Allura fixed it for him.   
Then she fixed his outfit. 

“You’re looking good and all Kashi, but you can’t tone down a suit with jeans,” she said over her shoulder, strolling into the man’s room before he had a chance to figure out where she was going. He found Allura in his wardrobe, pulling out different tops that she preferred over his simple plain-white dinner shirt he already had on. It was one of his uniform ones, and she knew he could do better. 

“It’s a date, and if you’re going to _Casanova_ like I think you’re planning, you’re going to stand out like a sore thumb in your wedding attire.”   
“Did somebody say wedding?” Pidge poked their head around the door, wolf whistling to the sight of Shiro’s sushi ass. _He left the damn towel in the bathroom._  
“Yep, you look stunning like that Shiro. Go propose. We’re all backing you.”   
The words left the oldest a blubbering, blushing mess, grabbing Allura by the arm and, not unkindly, throwing her and Pidge from his room. “I’m changing!” was all he yelled when the door slammed in the pair’s face, but they were too busy laughing to be annoyed at being chucked out.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to keep himself calm as he waited for Lance outside his apartment block. Curse Allura and Pidge for their teasing. It doesn’t help when Shiro is already nervous about tonight.  
 _But calm down Shiro, there’s nothing to worry about, you’re just taking Lance out to dinner._

That’s it. Shiro is taking Lance out to Casanovas on a _not-really-but-kind-of-first_ date. He’s making the extra effort because they’re not going to see each other till December. 

_First date._

After Shiro bubbled out the _“go out with me”_ mess that had been giving him a headache since who knows when, and after some gentle loving in the bedroom, Shiro had proposed the idea of a meal at a restaurant. Lance has said yes. They were dating now.   
This was a date. 

A _first_ date. 

Shiro and Lance were going out on their first date as boyfriends and _oh fuck now I’m nervous, what if I screw this up, what if I do something wrong and lance realises this whole thing was a mistake and—oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit—_

A tapping jolted Shiro from his worries, looking up to see the main focus of his thoughts grinning at him from through the passenger window. Lance opened the door and climbed in, chuckling darkly. “Hah, Shiro you should’ve seen your face. Sorry though, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” 

Lance looked…. _Woah._  
Black skinnies hugged his legs, showing off every ample curve, the material tight on his arse, but enough to show off the shape of his body. He wore a galaxy print button up and plain black tie, his hair styled differently; a feathery nest of chocolate and earthen colours. A piercing sparkled from his right ear.   
Shiro was half aware he was about to start drooling. 

Lance caught Shiro staring, carding a hand through his fringe like he was nervous about something.   
“Ah, yeah. I borrowed Dale’s shirt because you said we’re going to _Casanova,_ and that’s like, a _really posh_ and expensive restaurant on the upper side of town, and now looking at you, I’m still feeling underdressed,” he pouted, eyes skimming over Shiro’s black slacks and matching shirt. Allura had picked out a yellow jacket to match his dinner shoes, but told him to forgo the tie, instead leaving the top buttons undone to reveal a little chest. _“The service of eye candy,”_ she called it. 

Shiro couldn’t seem to shake the nervousness; one that was insistent on making his toes cold. “You… you look….” He said. _Come on brain! Words!_

“You look good.”   
_Good? Fucking_ good!   
_Of all the words you come out with, you go with_ good? 

_Not hot, not sexy or handsome, beautiful, suave, dazzling, perfect, stunning? No, no we have to go with “good.”_

_“Good” is what you call dinner you can barely stomach when you’re trying not to hurt the hosts feelings you dumb shit._

Lance was laughing, unaware was internally Shiro was beating himself up. “I’ll take good if me like this has made your brain stop working.”   
“Sorry,” Shiro sighed, head on the wheel, lightly as not to press the horn, face turned to where Lance was strapping himself in. “You keep surprising me. I wasn’t ready for it.” Lance shrugs with an apologetic smile, watching as Shiro sat up, reaching up to touch the boy’s chin and guide him in for a kiss. 

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro whispered when they parted, taking another kiss before Lance shoved him away, face as red as the handbrake light. “Thanks,” he stuttered, glancing out the windscreen and up. “Sorry, I don’t want to be rude, but can we go before Dale or Rolo takes note of your license plate or something. I’d rather they not stalk you right now, if not… well I don’t want to think about it.”  
Lance’s nervousness seemed to replace Shiro’s and he was all too happy to get this date on the road. 

“Have you been to Casanova’s before?” he asked once he pulled into the restaurants’ car park not ten minutes down the road. Had it been summer, he would’ve suggested walking, but the winter weather of snow and ice would surely see him flat on his ass and looking like a bumbling fool. Although that sounded like a funny _“Bridget Jones”_ set up, it wouldn’t probably go Shiro’s way. He would rather try and keep appearances of being cool and smooth as long as possible.   
So, driving in the car it was. 

Not like that wasn’t a perk either. Lance really liked Shiro’s SUV, confessing his want to be able to drive but not being able to take lessons due to time. Shiro’s follow up of _“I can teach you,”_ was shot down quick with a cocky grin. _“Like you showed me how to make coffee?”_  
The memory has the man smiling to himself, enough that he nearly misses when Lance answers his question. 

“A student can’t afford to be so indulgent,” he said, looking at the beige stone walls, the iron fencing decorated with fairy lights that ran the length of the outside seating terrace, the large cardinal awning that stood firm above, standing as support to several still-thriving grapevines that curled and wove its way to form the canopy ceiling. 

“Posh,” Lance murmured, letting out a low whistle.   
He bit his lip, the notion going unnoticed as Shiro focused on parking, taking a spot on the end of the row. “It’s Italian, although they do do other dishes with their own spin, so I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”  
“You’ve been here before then?”  
“A few times. I usually host here when I meet clientele. It was certainly a place I frequented before I opened up shop, meeting up with designers, contractors and such. The man who owns it is an old Army mate of mine who helped source where I get my produce for the food.” 

Lance nodded thoughtfully, staring up at the patrons already digging into meals. There were some outside, although they only looked to be drinking; still wrapped in their winter coats. “Hunk wants to work here. I’ve told him to try and apply part-time first to get his foot in the door, but he’s nervous.”   
“There’s no harm in trying,” Shiro said casually, already committing the name to memory, making a note to talk to Thace about getting this kid in. He’s heard about Hunk a few times, even tasted some leftover brownie that does his own to shame, so it’s not like the kid hasn’t got talent.   
Besides, getting his friend a prestigious job in a high end restaurant might just impress Lance and _hey, isn’t that what he’s trying to do?_

They walked in, side by side, Shiro restraining himself from holding Lance’s hand. He may have accepted the date and dating, although they hadn’t been out together before, so holding hands and public displays of affection might not be something Lance was comfortable with.  
They were both men after all. It wouldn’t be uncommon for judging looks to be cast in their direction.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance is nervous about something.

It’s been ten minutes that he’s been perusing the menu, analysing it like it’s about to tell him the answers to the universe. Shiro would help him with shouting _“forty two”_ but he’s pretty sure the joke would go right over the boy’s head. 

So instead, he reaches out a hand and lightly places it on Lance’s hand. Still, he jolts.   
“Lance, you look like someone’s got a gun to your back. What’s bugging you?” Shiro hooked another finger around Lance’s, pulling the menu down so he could see him properly, not cowering behind the list of _Casanova’s_ Specials.   
“I just…” he trails off when the waiter pops up beside them with the drinks they had ordered. Shiro has a low-alcohol cocktail, Lance opting for coke because it’s easy and he’s not really experimental when it comes to trying new drinks and the like.   
They’re not quite ready to order. Shiro is, although he knows Lance isn’t sure so he asks the waiter for a few more minutes. 

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Shiro offers shortly, glad he had reserved one of the private tables that sat in their own little alcove overlooking the Casanova’s garden or rolling white lawns and neat little shrubberies. The place does well as a restaurant, but it’s also a wedding venue. _Oh no, memories of Pidge’s teasing. Abort mission, abort mission—_

“Sorry, guess I am just a little nervous,” Lance admits. He hasn’t looked at Shiro, his eyes still fixed on the menu, his teeth holding the bottom lip as eyes flickered from one place to another, then back and forth. And Shiro then, realised his first mistake.   
“Lance. I am the one who invited you out, so order anything you like.” He speaks softly, allowing a gentle caress of fingers to the hand he still holds. Lance entwines their fingers unconsciously, now his gaze torn between the table and Shiro’s face. “But I—”  
“We’re out to have fun. So have fun, yeah?”   
Lance eyes him suspiciously, but there’s nothing Shiro is hiding in his smile, so he sighs a “yes,” and picks a ‘ _Classic Spaghetti Carbonara’_ for himself and a side of garlic bread.

It doesn’t take long for the awkwardness to seep away.   
But Shiro still feels tension; suspecting the other patrons are gossiping about them, from what he can surmise from their constant glances in the pair’s direction. He sat Lance with his back to the wooden partition, facing the window whereas he gets the full view of the bustling restaurant.   
It is so Lance isn’t conscious of the eyes on him, but it’s not helping when he spots Thace entering for his shift and the shit-eating grin that rivals Matt’s. 

They’re halfway through mains when Thace comes up. He sets down two tall glasses filled with liquid that changes from cream to brown, then topped off with red liquor that is slowly seeping down. “For the happy couple,” he smiles, and Shiro really wants to say something, but Lance is looking at him with a look that asks “ _did you order this?”_  
Oh well. Shiro should’ve expected this. He had picked it out because he loves the food and it’s familiar to him, but being Thace’s, there’s always the chance he’d see his fellow Ranger working the shop floor. 

“Thank you,” Shiro says smoothly, the edge enough to tell Thace he’s not allowed anymore games tonight. Then he orders dessert to shoo the man off, ignoring Lance for the moment who is sipping at the straw, eyes fixed to the table. Whatever they had been talking about was abandoned in favour of finishing dinner, although Lance was quick to praise the taste of the drink. 

“He seemed familiar. Do you really come here all that often?”  
“Not for a while,” Shiro said with a grin, nudging Lance with his foot. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied with you.”   
The contact ignited Lance’s blush and he hurried to finish his drink, a smile poking from behind the glass. It’s the same smile he wore before he dropped the bomb of “ _Daddy,”_ and Shiro hopes to fucking god that Lance isn’t going to say that here because he’s not quite sure he can come here again if Thace hears his boyfriend call him that. 

One of the waiters comes over to check if the pair would like anything else to drink. Lance orders another cocktail, but when it comes to Shiro asking, he feels pressure on the inside of his leg. It’s gone as quick as it came.   
A quick look to Lance, but the boy’s face is a mask. “I’ll have the same,” he rushes, relinquishing his cutlery as the waiter clears the table. 

Shiro feels the pressure on his leg again, although a little higher.   
“Um… Lance?” he asks, a little uncertain. It’s not like it could be anyone else, and your foot just doesn’t end up _there_ by chance. “Yes?” Lance’s tone is as unwavering as his expression and Shiro turns to his drink. He barely presses the glass to his lips before Lance’s foot is back. He hooks it around the back of Shiro’s, slipping one shoe off with ease. 

Above the table, you wouldn’t think anything was off, perhaps Shiro has just eaten something spicy from the way he’s sure his face is heating up. But underneath, behind the curtain of table cloth, Lance is running his foot up the inside of Shiro’s calf, moving back down.   
Neither have shoes on anymore, and although the boy started this, Shiro is beginning to play along. A voice in the back of his head is keeping on about Thace watching, and if he wasn’t aware of the casual glances looking his way, he bloody well is aware of them now. 

Lance isn’t aware of Shiro’s dilemma. He’s having fun massaging Shiro’s feet with his own, making idle talk as if playing footsie isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Shiro is struggling to focus between conversation and caressing toes that are no on the inside of his thigh.   
The waiter certainly gains Shiro’s attention when he appears out of nowhere, holding out the large sundae-to-share on a tray next to the cocktails, and concerned questions because “Sir, you look quite flushed. Would you like me to open a window or get you a glass of water?”   
“Water will be fine,” Shiro says, forcing a smile, swallowing a gasp when Lance gets too adventurous, and a foot nudges at his inner thigh _just missing_ his dick. It’s hard, Shiro won’t deny that, but there’s nothing the pair can do anymore here, and Lance has got him hard before dessert and _oh god this is going to be uncomfortable._

When the Sundae is placed on the table, Lance beams at the treat; a sweet-tooth through and through. His touches disappear from Shiro’s legs as his own focus is solely set on the ice cream. Shiro would be lying if he was glad about it.   
Instead, Lance has changed point of attack. He takes one of the spoon, a scoop of ice cream and he’s fed Shiro the fucking ice cream before he had a chance to question it. “Good?” he asks, his teasing smirk playing on those damn lips Shiro wants to reach over and snog. He couldn’t care less for the others in the restaurant, and Lance with the teasing and the feet and the…. _Fucking hell._

“Lance,” Shiro growls warningly when feet reappear on his member, sliding up and down against sensitive skin. “Yes?” Lance asks around a mouthful of vanilla ice cream that’s not quite made it into his mouth and a little white cream dribbles out the corner of his mouth and _OH FUCKING HELL!_

Shiro kept the glare from his face, snatching up the other spoon to make this dessert go quicker. He half regretted ordering it now, too busy playing out scenarios in his head of taking Lance back home and giving him a good drilling for getting him hard. The little minx knew exactly what he’d done, licking his lips as his eyes bore holes right through Shiro. 

“Have I done something wrong?” Lance half-whispered, tilting his head as he plucked off a cherry from the Sundae, licking all the cream off before putting it in his mouth. “No,” Shiro said, voice gruff because he’s _really_ trying not to throw this table aside and mount Lance right here. “But your upset,” Lance continues, the speed in eating increased.   
“I’m not.” Because he’s not. He’s just horny. Horny, hard and impatient.   
But that’s not all because it doesn’t matter if they get out of here in five minutes or five hours. Everyone is at his place and there is _no way_ he can sneak Lance up to his room for a few rounds with them lying in wait. Lance has his own roommates blocking sexy-time in his dorm room. 

Lance is so going to pay for this next time. 

He’s still playing his little game, toes wrapping around Shiro’s dick, still clothed behind boxers and slacks, but that doesn’t stop Lance from playing with what he can get at. 

“Lance,” he warns.   
_“Yes Daddy?”_

_Oh you little shit._

“Yes, waiter. We’ll have the bill.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro loves his truck. He got himself a jeep because they were bigger, bulkier and the back chairs could be folded down so he could fit in supplies when he had to pick up his own produce or take all the table cloths to the launderette when the cleaning service cancelled on him.  
He loves that fact he chose the model with the heated seats, the LED display with all the built-in gadgets like GPS and Bluetooth radio and the bumper camera that comes on whenever he sticks the gears in reverse.

But right now, he loves the fact that he installed tinted windows, all the way around. Every window: the windscreen, the driver side, the passenger side, the four in the back and the boot’s windows were all modified when he got the tyres and the interior decked out.   
It was to improve the look of his ride, but right now, it’s helping a great deal to block out any unwanted lookers as Shiro drives his dick to the hilt, Lance gasping out as he tries to cling onto his back, leaving kitten scratches on his skin. 

“Shiro I— Shiro harder,” Lance pants, the ghost of his breathy whines sending tingles down the man’s spine. Shiro holds him tighter, giving his hips a roll to change the angle of trajectory and Lance cries out. The sound is cut off by Shiro’s hand, clamping over lips to quiet him before the sound could attract the attention of the large group walking past the car. He stilled his own actions, trying to get his breath back. 

Lance isn’t looking up at him; he’s tilted his head back to look out the boot window at the strangers too absorbed in their own lives to notice the silhouettes in the jeep next to them fucking each other’s brains out.   
They’re barely three paces from the back wheel when Shiro roll’s his hips, hand still placed firmly over Lance’s mouth to catch the gasp.   
That gets the boy’s gaze back to Shiro, and they’re back to fucking full throttle, all the noise constrained because they don’t want to get caught. The idea of getting caught is just as thrilling as the realisation that Shiro is christening the back seat of his car in Casanova’s car park with Lance.   
_Fuck, if anyone found out, he wouldn’t even live it down._

Still, this is pretty fucking hot and Shiro can’t get enough, mouth claiming skin, suckling on his back, getting too needy and biting on his shoulder.   
Lance cries out under his hand, but the fingers dig deeper into Shiro’s back and pulling him closer. He’s trying to talk under the hand that remains muffling his sweet voice, and Shiro really wants to hear what he’s saying, but the hand won’t move and he’s dragging himself back before plunging in and _oh yeah, that feels good, “Lance you’re so good for me, so good for Daddy aren’t you,”_ he breaths. 

Shiro does remove his hand, Lance able to gasp for air before Shiro’s kissing him, invasive tongue inside, cold tongues dancing together where the remains of the ice cream chill makes the hair on their necks stand on end. 

“Daddy, fuck me harder,” Lance whispers, suppressing the moan as Shiro’s drive slows so he can hear. “Fuck me until I can’t walk.” 

Shiro doesn’t need any further encouragement, pulling back before slamming hard. Lance strangles his own cry, hands pressed tightly over flush lips it’s like he’s trying to suffocate himself. Watching him hold back the noise is such a turn on, and Lance may have seen the evil tint in the man’s eye as he grabbed hands and pulled them away from his mouth. 

Shiro leant in, peppering kisses where he could, pinning Lance’s hands on the leather of the chair beneath him.   
“Don’t make a noise,” he instructs him, evil grin widening when Lance’s eyes go wide. “Shiro, no Shiro my hands—” but Shiro just rolls his hips and Lance has to bite his bottom lip, the noise halfway between moan and whimper.   
The skin under his teeth is white from pressure, Lance’s face contorted from concentration and bliss, trying not to make a noise. 

Shiro leans down with the seventh or something thrust, scraping teeth against his neck, feeling Lance shudder beneath him. “You like that?”  
“Yes Daddy I like that,” Lance whines, teeth clamping back down to stop anything slipping out. It’s cute how hard he’s trying, but the more he tries, the more Shiro wants to make him moan, cry, scream because it’s Shiro’s dick plunging into his ass in a public car park and _oh good just thinking about it is making me super crazy._

Lance’s hips begin to buck; a sign he’s getting close, _not quite there_ but Shiro’s close to making him come. He pins him to the chair with his own hips, slowing the thrusting because he’s found enjoyment at the reactions from all this nibbling and biting.   
Shiro removes teeth from their point on Lance’s neck, taking a second to appreciate the slight indent of crescent marks he’s left there. He thumbs at the saliva, lightly touching in case it hurts. Lance has his face turned, eyes looking anywhere but Shiro’s face. 

“Daddy, harder,” he mewls, hips rutting down. “I’m just getting a taste,” Shiro says moving to suckle the skin over his collar bone. “Harder,” Lance mewls again. This time his hips stay still. “Daddy bite me, mark me, _make me feel it.”_  
And wow, that’s… that’s…. 

Shiro bites down, _hard,_ not enough to pierce skin, but enough that the grunt of pain is pulled into a pleasurable one. It’s made easier when he rocks his hips again, missing the friction around his cock. Biting Lance makes him tighten up and _oh god that feels good._  
“So good, so good,” Lance is mumbling between lusty moans, although they’re quiet. But Shiro isn’t thinking to anyone who might be spying, he’s just focused on plunging into Lance’s ass, biting him, tasting him, devouring him until there’s nothing left but a taste in his mouth. 

With the way Lance moans when Shiro bites into his shoulder, fingers digging into Lance’s sides so hard he knows he’s going to leave bruises; Shiro can feel just how much Lance is into this. It’s clear, not just from the beginning, the whimpers, moans…   
A surge of want washes over Shiro and he can’t help but tighten his grip on the boy’s hands. 

Shiro bites down just as he thrusts into Lance once more, with more passion than before, letting go only to graze his teeth up Lance’s neck again, nibbling at the shell of the boy’s ear, tongue licking up along the line of his pinna, then in. Lance shudder’s, the motion quaint but not as powerful as before. 

Shiro returns to Lance’s shoulder and chest, up to his neck just underneath his ear, biting down until the boy whimpers from the pain. He pulls back to lick over the sore red skin, kissing it gently before moving over to another untouched area of skin, only to bite down once more. Not as hard this time, he’s still gauging Lance’s willingness.   
But from the rutting of hips, Shiro’s doing a damn good job of eliciting pleasure from pain. 

“Lance… C-can I—” Shiro begins to ask, lips hovering over the skin, words painting the skin he wants to nibble, bite, gnaw at. Lance interrupts him before he can finish the question. “God, yes!” he gasps out, quick to bite his bottom lip, the words embarrassingly loud. He needn’t worry; the car park is empty, but neither knows this from being too distracted with one another. 

A low whine escapes Lance’s throat when Shiro bites down once more, this time _much_ harder.   
For a moment a different, sharper shiver shoots through the body beneath him when Shiro breaks through the skin. The sudden taste of metal has him withdraw sharply, about to apologise but Lance moans, _“again.”_

Shiro watches, amazed at the tiny shudders, moving like lightening through Lance’s body, eyes fixing on the droplets of blood blooming from broken skin. He leans in again, allowing his tongue to slide over the skin, licking at it both to numb the pain and wipe away the blood. There’s not enough that it will trace lines down the boy’s neck, but he’s not going to bite that hard again.   
Shiro returns to nibbling and suckling, determined to leave a collar of hickies that will remain for the week he’s not going to be able to hold this boy. He continues thrusting into him, this time deeper and slower, a hand releasing one of Lance’s wrists to tease at one of his nipples as he continues mouthing over the bite mark.

“Daddy, daddy I want to come,” Lance says all of a sudden, legs up, ankles locked together behind Shiro’s hips to keep him still for a second because, “oh god daddy, _I’m… I’m…”_  
Some sort of sense has Shiro bend down, mouth swallowing Lance whole. Just the touch to his cock has Lance spilling out instantly, his seed swallowed lovingly, pre-come and remnants lapped up from where Shiro can’t get enough of this boy beneath him. He’s beyond gone, body boneless when Shiro rolls his hips and releases inside Lance, cum coating his insides, filling him up until there’s nothing left.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Tuesday 28th November**

[From: Mullet – 14:52]  
What did you do to Blu, she’s being really weird. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:52]  
I’m offended you think I did something to Blu. _ ( `3´ )

[From: Mullet – 14:52]  
Ah shit, sorry Lance, I meant to text Shiro. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:52]  
Nah it’s cool. But what’s up with Blu. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:52]  
And what do you mean text Shiro, shouldn’t he be at work? _

[From: Mullet – 14:55]  
He is. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:55]  
And you’re… what? Taking Blu on a walk around the park? _

[From: Mullet – 14:58]  
You got me there. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:58]  
Uh huh. _

[From: Mullet – 14:58]  
Shiro’s not here.   
He’s out on delivery. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 14:58]  
It’s cool I don’t need to know where he is, I’m not a psychopathic girlfriend who needs to know where he is 24/7. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:00]  
What’s up with Blu. I might be able to share my infinite knowledge. _

[From: Mullet – 15:00]  
Infinite knowledge? 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:00]  
Who was the one that predicted the outcome of Infinity War? _¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

[From: Mullet – 15:00]  
I thought we agreed never to mention that subject again. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:01]_  
Maybe, depends when I need blackmail material on you.   
But as of now, I’m invested in my baby’s health. How is Blu? 

[From: Mullet – 15:02]  
Don’t know. Grumpy? Feisty?   
She bit Ashes this morning and when I went to feed her she tipped the bowl out on the floor. She’s moody. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:03]  
Did you step on her tail again? _ (¬_¬)

[From: Mullet – 15:03]  
I never stepped on it in the first place! I stepped near it and she hissed at me like a whiny baby. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:03]  
You know I’m always on Blu’s side don’t you. _

[From: Mullet – 15:03]  
You and Shiro alike. 

[From: Mullet – 15:03]  
Hey he’s home now. Going to take Blu to the vet to get her checked out again, I’m a little worried. Talk soon. 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 15:03]  
Cool beans, keep me posted? _

[From: Mullet – 15:03]  
Will do.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Thursday 30th November**

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:53]  
Blu misses you. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:53]_  
Just Blu?  
How is she by the way? 

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:53]_  
Me too.  
And Keith although I doubt you’d even get him to admit it out loud.   
I think I’ve got a voice recording somewhere of him asking about you. 

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:53]  
And yeah, Blu’s fine. Still just bloated. The medicine the vet gave us made her throw up, but other than that, she’s good. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:54]_  
That’s good.   
You’ll have to send that voice recording to me for completely non-blackmailing purposes. 

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:54]  
I think you’ve been spending too much time near Matt and Keith. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:55]_  
But alright, I’ll bite.   
If I give up the goods, what do I get in exchange? 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:57]  
My good company? _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:58]  
Just company? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:58]  
Is that not good enough? _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:58]  
Company is all well and good, but if that’s all I’m after, I can always call up Allura. She’s been bugging me for a Star Wars marathon since she got state side. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:59]_  
Well, you could, Allura is wonderful for company. Brownie points for Star Wars.   
But I doubt she’d be able to keep up with you all of your wondrous activities. 

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:59]  
Wondrous activities? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:59]  
In the bedroom…_

_[From: Hot Stuff – 10:59]  
Oh, and you could? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 10:59]  
I do, and on a regular basis. _ (☆ω☆)

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:01]  
But if girls are more your speed, I think I can one up them when you see me in a skirt. _\\(o‿o✿)/

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:01]  
Scratch that, I can *definitely* one up them. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:03]  
I can’t tell if you’re joking or not. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:03  
Oh, I’m being completely serious. Maya gave me all her old clothes from growing up because she doesn’t fit them anymore, or they aren’t her style or something. She’s also the one that bought me my favourite pair of heels. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:06]  
I don’t believe you. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:06]  
Shiro, I’m offended. I thought you were more trusting than that. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:06]  
After you lied about finishing your project? _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:07]  
Touché. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:09]  
Here’s the deal. You come to mine in skirt and heels, then I’ll believe you. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:09]  
In this weather? You’re secretly trying to kill me aren’t’ you. _\\(º □ º |||)/

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:09]  
No, that is Keith’s honour. Instead I get to see you naked. _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:10]  
I’M IN CLASS!!! Now you’ve got me stuck here with a boner. _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:10]  
And you think that imagining you in skirt and heels does nothing to me? _

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:10]  
But you should get off your phone if you’re in class.  _

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 11:10]_  
Yes Daddy.   
∠( ツ 」∠)＿

_[From: Hot Stuff – 11:11]  
LANCE! _

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Sunday 3rd December**

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 08:43]  
Morning beautiful. _

[From: Team Mom – 08:43]  
Lance, are you sure this text is meant for me? 

_[From: Lance-a-licious – 08:43]  
Of course Hunk! _

[From: Team Mom – 08:45]  
Alright Lance what do you want? 

_[From Lance-a-licious – 08:45]  
Why would I need something? I’m just saying good morning to my beautiful, wonderful, bestest friend in the whole world! _

[From: Team Mom – 08:45]  
…

_[From Lance-a-licious – 08:45]  
Okay, so I just want to hang out today. But I’m not lying about the whole best friend stuff. _

[From: Team Mom – 08:46]  
You know you can just ask, you don’t need to play the flattery card every time.   
You are my best friend after all. 

_[From Lance-a-licious – 08:47]  
Yeah, but you live with your girlfriend dude, I don’t want to get in your way or anything. _

[From: Team Mom – 08:47]  
Nonsense. Do you want help with studying, is that why you’re coming round? 

_[From Lance-a-licious – 08:47]  
Not really. I kind of wanted advice on something. _

[From: Team Mom – 08:48]  
No problem. You’ve got a key so just let yourself in. 

_[From Lance-a-licious – 08:50]  
Thanks dude, be there in ten. _

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_[From: Hot Stuff – 12:26]  
Hey Lance. I’ve finally finished setting up for Christmas. Now I’m in a really festive mood but have to wait another three bloody weeks. Anyway, want to come over? Keith’s gone to New York for work, so he won’t be back for a few days and you know what that means… _ (Oω<)☆

 _[From Lance-a-licious – 16:31]_  
Hey sorry, just saw your text. I’ve had a busy day at Hunk’s place and I’m cooking myself an early dinner before work shift. The new rota is out and I’ve got to make up time for the days I’m taking off to go see family. I’m free Tuesday evening though.   
And it’s nice to see you finally using decent emoji <(￣︶￣)>

_[From: Hot Stuff – 16:32]  
Ah, that’s cool. Tuesday I’m free too, so just head here after University. _

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Tuesday 5th December**

 _[From Lance-a-licious – 14:06]_  
Shiro, so sorry but Iverson just dumped this huge fucking bomb on me today and I need to get it done before the end of the week.   
｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡

_[From: Hot Stuff – 14:06]_  
Don’t stress. We’ll catch up when it’s good for you.   
Don’t work too hard though, and if you need a breather, just come chill here. 

_[From Lance-a-licious – 14:06]  
Thanks, and sorry again. _ (X__X)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who can spot the clues?  
> Who can see what will happen in the future?


	13. Stop And Smell The Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been over a week since the boys met. Shiro loves holding Lance close, and he’s slowly opening up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short chapter. It started out as a plan of cute pillow talk and turned into… well...

**Thursday 7th December**

“God I’ve missed you,” Shiro said, nuzzling his face into Lance’s belly as he held him in his lap. “You mean my ass?”  
“I mean your cute nipples too,” Shiro said with a smirk, rolling backwards. Lance let out a yelp, which quickly dissolved into laughter as he fell with Shiro, coming to a stop on top of his chest. They cuddled together, laying sprawled on Shiro’s bed long enough that he begins to feel his eyes begin to droop. Lance has his closed, a half smile on his lips as he relaxes under massaging hands working into the boy’s neck.  
“Sorry I couldn’t see you sooner, but with the Café and Christmas coming up—”  
“It’s okay,” Lance hummed, crossing his arms to lean on them, gazing up at Shiro, the half smile still there, soft underneath a lidded gaze. 

“Did you manage to get that stuff done?”  
“Stuff?” Lance looks up, brow raised where he’s not quite on the same page as Shiro. “You know, this Tuesday just gone. You said you had something you needed to get done and that’s why you couldn’t come round. Did you manage to get it done?”  
“Oh what that? Yeah, yeah,” Lance says quickly nuzzling his face back into Shiro’s bare chest with a sigh. “I’ve had Iverson moaning at me about it today. Actually, most of last week too because he’s actually surprised I got the project finished before the deadline.”  
“But you got it done didn’t you? So why was he moaning?”  
“That’s just Professor Iverson. He likes to moan.” 

Shiro lets his fingers trace the lines down Lance’s back, following the dip of his spine, counting each bone as his finger glides over each one. Lance always wore a content expression when Shiro petted him like this, but usually he’d be quick to start a kiss war, as if distracting himself from what the man was doing. 

Shiro wanted nothing more than to cuddle and doze together, but he always regretted it in the morning. He rolled slightly, shifting so that gravity pulled Lance off of him and he could sit up. “Just cleaning up,” Shiro said to the confusion that followed. He grabbed a damp flannel from the bathroom and washed Lance down himself, peppering kisses on glistening skin. 

He sat on the bed side, delaying fingers that plucked at the strap between flesh and metal. He’d always wait till Lance was asleep before taking it off; awake before the boy so he could put it back on. Lance was yet to see the fleshy, scarred stump of what remained of his right arm.  
_But they were boyfriends now._  
Shiro needn’t hide it from him. 

Trembling fingers pulled at the elastic, pulling it down, twisting once then hooking it back over his wrist to keep it there for the night. He could hear the silence in the room; the lack-of-movement from Lance. He could feel his burning stare, and no matter how many times Shiro told himself _it’s okay, he won’t be disgusted, it will be fine…_ Somehow, he couldn’t make his fingers move. 

“Do you need any help?”  
Lance speaks softly, moving behind on the bed. Shiro feels a dip in the mattress as Lance crawls closer, a hand touching his right shoulder, above where metal and flesh join. Fingers trace the scar lines there; a habit of Lance’s to follow the patterns etched into his skin.  
Shiro says nothing, but he doesn’t move his arm when fingers trail down, to metal. He doesn’t move when Lance pulls back the latches on the underside, revealing the screws. His hand hesitates, waiting for… _something._  
A hand, reaching up, pinches a screw and begins to unwind. Lance takes the other, easing Shiro’s arm off the metal rod. Whatever reaction is hidden behind Shiro’s back; tense, shoulders tight with worry at the silence that returns…. 

“Does it hurt?”  
“Not all the time.” 

Lance removes his hand then and Shiro can’t fight the feeling of his stomach plummeting. He’s saved by the trill of his mobile ringing at him from inside a jean pocket, discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed where he kicked them off earlier. 

“I’ll… just let me….” He pushes off the bed, deliberately keeping his body between Lance and his right arm, eyes on the floor to stop himself from glaring at his reflection.  
The scars were an ugly reminder of his failures. He hid them behind a prosthetic and robot jokes, and maybe he wasn’t fully accepting of the idea himself, but he hoped that Lance’s accepting would at least let him… _relax_ a little more. Maybe then he could shake the slight insecurity. 

Keith had done his best when Shiro came home, trying not to stare, or talk about it, or apologise a thousand times a day. But the soldier has chalked it down to politeness and cleanly disguised repulsion. It didn’t matter if he wore his uniform, nodded at the _“thank you”_ from strangers; _they all saw him different now._  
Broken, cripple. 

Useless.

Lance saw that too. Now that he stood bare in the dark, parts missing, scarred and scared of rejection because he’s been hiding— “Shiro?”  
The man looks up, looking to Lance, scanning the expression on his face, looking for the disgust. 

_None._

His mobile was on the floor by the dresser, but by the time he picked it up, the call had stopped. Now he’s just stood there, glaring at the dead screen like it is its fault for Shiro’s insecurities.

Lance is still watching him.  
“Come on Shiro, I’m getting cold,” he said, patting the bed beside him. Shiro climbed in, deliberately leaving space between the pair, trying not to push—  
Lance snuggled in, laying his head on Shiro’s chest, breath tickling the skin beneath his neck. Shiro loops his arm around Lance, pulling the covers over their bare bodies.  
They lay in tense silence; Shiro staring out the window at the darkening sky. It’s still early; the two too desperate to wait till night before they made love, threw away the routine and took themselves to the bedroom before dinner.  
Shiro is neither hungry, nor is he tired. His hand roam Lance’s body, just needing to touch him, trying to gain comfort from the fact that Lance is still here, _he’s not going anywhere._

“This is the first time I’ve seen you without your prosthetic on.” Lance breaks the silence first, bringing his legs up, hugging one of Shiro’s, cold feet pressing at the man’s calf.  
It isn’t so much a statement as it is a question, cleverly disguised in words and a tone of indifference. But it holds neither pressure nor fear of answering, and Shiro barely has to think to construct an answer. “I remove it after you’ve fallen asleep and on again before you wake.”  
It’s the truth. Lance nods to it, speaking again now that he hasn’t been ignored, nor the question been avoided. “But you’ve taken it off now. And I’m not asleep.”  
“Do you mind it?” _Because that’s the real fear._  
“Not at all.”

A trail of kisses lay over his skin, Shiro’s arm coming up to lay over Lance’s shoulder in a one-arm hug. Lance nuzzles in again, but his breath doesn’t even out, so Shiro knows he’s still awake. Suspicion confirmed when the boy speaks again.  
“Is this… is it what…” He seems to be struggling with the thought, stopping now and again, repeating things. Shiro waits. 

“The days you’re not here, or working. Is it the reason?” Lance’s voice sounds small, even in the silence of the room. Shiro considers the question for a moment, a part of his mind holding to the point that Lance is asking where he goes, another to the way he speaks, as if asking is sensitive, and maybe he’s not allowed.  
“Yeah. I’ve had to make a few trips to the hospital recently. The thing kept jamming, so I got a new model. This one just takes a little getting used to because it’s lighter and there’s no delay when I want it to move.” 

Shiro starts explaining about Dr Coran, and the programme that he’s fronting fir Dr Holt. Lance hums along, now and again asking small questions, retaining the same politeness as Shiro talks about physio and the recovery centre he frequents to help. But everything stops when he chokes on Kaiden’s name, the pool of guilt now an ocean inside him.  
“Kaiden was with you. Abroad I mean.”  
“Yes. He’s been my friend since high school.”

Lance nods at that, circling his arms tighter around Shiro. Usually, he’d stroke and trace the scar marks, but now, his hands remain still.  
“You’re kind. Caring, selfless,” the boy mumbles; to himself or Shiro, the man doesn’t know. “You care a lot for your friends.”  
“And you.” 

The boy looks up, lips soft but empty of smiles. “And me.”  
He looks tired now, leaning into a hand that cups his chin. Shiro pulls him closer and pulls the covers up to their shoulders. He feels Lance’s finger above his stump, but the fingers are withdrawn, curled instead around the man’s waist. Legs intertwine and Shiro sighs into his pillow, breathing in the warm scent of the new shampoo Lance has started leaving in his bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is literally just sex to make up for the lack-of here.


	14. Extra Hot, Extra Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time apart has given Shiro a chance to refuel his fantasies. Lance is all too willing to play along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all: OMG INFINITY WAR OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!!! ＼(º □ º l|l)/
> 
> Secondly: apologies because I’ve been a little sidetracked by the wonders of Infinity War and have only just finished proof reading this chapter.   
> Personally, looking back at it, this is literally just smut I wanted to write (mainly the bondage) and doesn’t fit with the whole Shiro/Lance dynamic going on in this fic because they don’t want to be fuck buddies, they want to be boyfriends and I didn’t want to turn this into a Dom/Sub fic, but I’ve left it because I promised smut and smut you shall receive.

**Friday 8th December**

Lance sits bare on the end of the bed, leant back slightly as Shiro trails lips up his inner thigh, turning between both, smiling at the involuntary shudder the trembles in his legs. He has his eyes closed, just intent on feeling those soft lips, guessing where they will touch next. He hums to the suckling on his inner thigh, gasping when teeth nip playfully. 

“You’re just adorable,” Shiro hums, finding new skin to mouth. His hands are rubbing over Lance’s ankles, up and down, but when Shiro moves to kiss Lance’s half-hard erection, he’s not really paying attention to the foot massage. 

“You,” Shiro says, breathless, layering kiss over kiss around the boy’s dick, underneath and around his puckering holes, “are beautiful.” Lance preens, arching his back, blushing from the compliment. “You look so fucking delicious,” Shiro mouths, a telling tongue tracing the underside of Lance’s now-fully hard dick. “I could eat you all up.” Lance rolls his hips, widening his legs. He whimpers, mind breaking from the imagined touches he wants around his self. 

Suddenly Shiro is all tongue and Lance throws hands to his hair as the man decides he’s going to be quick about it. “Shiro, Shiro I’m—” Lance starts, his tone desperate. However Shiro takes the boy right to the hilt, giving his throat and experimental swallow, the muscles around Lance’s dick contracting and loosening, melting his words into a content sigh.   
But Lance isn’t content for long, gasping when a cold, lube-slicked finger prodded at his twitching hole. It’s just the one though, _deliberately just the one,_ and Lance whines neededly for a second at least, or deeper. Just _more._

Shiro is savouring the taste of Lance. The faint scent of sweat, the lighter hints of raspberry from his scented-body wash.   
The slight hint of Shiro hangs about him too, and he prides himself of the familiarity, as if he’s marked his mate from Alpha’s that want this gorgeous, delectable morsel. 

Shiro rubs his cheek on Lance’s erection, delighted at the way his breath hitches. Puckering kisses bless the underside, a finger still delving in and out, treating Lance like he’s a virgin in its hesitant exploration of Lance’s perfect little arse Shiro is sure he knows every little secret about. 

Keeping his eyes fixed upon Lance’s expression of almost-bliss, he removes his finger, letting his hands trail up and down Lance’s thighs. He feels, underneath the lightly placed palms, the muscles tense and shudders. An experimental dig of fingers pull another hitching gasp, Shiro humming as he nuzzles Lance’s dick again.   
“Daddy,” Lance whines, wanting more than just the teasing. “Sssh baby, daddy’s just admiring you. You’re adorable, friggin dazzling. I can’t believe you’re mine.”   
“I’m yours?”  
“All mine,” Shiro hums, smiling as his tongue laps up the dribbling pre-come.   
Lance is always undone by his words, all the little pets, the cute little praises and compliments just as soft and sweet as their lazy morning kisses. 

Shiro adds a second finger.   
Lance arches his back then, a moan loud in the quiet room, positively shaking as his own thoughts play their part in winding him up further. The probing movements are slow, the fingers firmly tight to one another, no scissoring motions to loosen the boy as Shiro continues to mouth the head of his dick.   
“Daddy, I feel empty,” Lance pleads, staring down at him with his gaze lidded, yet hope remains in shining eyes. His mouth is softly parted, his breathes heavier than usual, hips rutting down as he tries to fuck himself on Shiro’s hand. “Daddy fill me up inside.” 

Shiro hums happily at that, not even bothering to suppress just how fucking smug he is as he leans in, taking one of Lance’s balls between his lips. He doesn’t often play with them like this, but he’s glad he’s done it now when Lance makes a pitched noise somewhere between shock and delight. One hand thumbs the underside of his cock while Shiro continues to lave his balls, taking one and then the other into his mouth. 

Lance’s fingers twist in Shiro’s fringe, his legs shaking.   
Shiro rubs soothing circles on Lance’s thighs, touch feather-light as he hooks fingers around the boy’s ankles, guiding them up and open, allowing him more access to the dripping cock that wants Shiro’s mouth as much as Shiro’s mouth wants that cock. 

Lance ruts down on Shiro’s two fingers before the man can remove them, begging Daddy for more again, but Shiro is insistent on taking things slow. He nuzzles the fair hair at the hilt of Lance’s dick, kissing along his hip bone, up to his navel. A seal of lips and an invasive tongue; Shiro listens to the moans with a smile.   
He’s slower than he’d like to be, and about a million times slower than Lance would definitely like, but teasing Lance like this is far too much fun. 

“Don’t come,” Shiro orders, breathless, licking his lips at the sight of the feast before him. Lance watches, eyes wide at the command. “Don’t come without me,” Shiro repeats, reaching up to cup Lance’s chin, stroking a thumb on the little scar under his lip. “Can you do that? Do that for Daddy?” Lance nods once. “Yes.” 

Shiro follows the light trail of kitten-soft hair leading back down to his raging hard-on, stopping every now and again to mouth unexplored skin, lapping at the sweat that lays like glitter on hot skin. Lance’s stomach jumps when teeth nibble playfully, sharp but loving bites leaving crescent moon shapes in wonderful weaving patterns over his gorgeous bronze skin. 

The boy’s cock stands tall and proud, bobbing with the gentle ruts Shiro gives as he returns two fingers to Lance’s hole. “Another,” Lance begs, and Shiro allows him the pleasure of a third finger; a thumb pressing the skin between entrance and balls. Lance gasped at the pressure, his body shooting up suddenly, but a hand on his abdomen forces him back to the bed. Lance doesn’t fight the silent order to remain where he was. 

Shiro pulls back to marvel again, committing the sight to memory; listening to Lance’s arousal. He could watch him forever, but that’s not fair for Lance who is beginning for touches right now.   
So Shiro moves in, moving back to the cock, prodding his slit with a tongue to clean up the pre-come, laying kisses along the length. In tandem to Lance’s needy moans, he speeds up the trusting of his fingers, beginning to open the boy up, slow still, but now there’s more friction and Lance is feeling more.   
He’s not being loud anymore, in fact he’s hardly making a sound other than the oh-so-quiet little gasps and tiny whines when Shiro kisses him. 

The man feels his brow narrowing, lifting himself from Lance’s member with a question on his lips. But as he looks up and sees Lance watching him intently, his lips caught between his teeth. A flicker of confusion on both ends before Shiro speeds up his fingers _again,_ and this time he gets the cry of pleasure he wants to hear.   
“Sing for Daddy,” Shiro whispers huskily, not needing to raise his voice in the quiet. “I want to hear you, I want you to tell me just how much you love me when I do this. I want to hear the sounds you make. I want to know how much you enjoy this,” he says, the words ghosting over Lance’s dick, to which his _entire body_ shudders in anticipation. 

“Daddy, suck me, I love it when you taste me, when you loosen me up with your fingers,” Lance says, thrusting his hips down to get Shiro deeper inside him.   
He’s so fucking hot Shiro wants to devour him there and then. Lance looks desperate for it as well, and that alone is doing wonders for Shiro's own sex drive. Not that he needs help with it when Lance is involved, but the boy just has a way with pulling desire deep from inside the man.   
_And yeah, actually, he wants to see Lance like that in real life, not just his fantasies. He should probably hurry up._

Shiro returns to licking Lance’s dick, from base to tip revelling in the stuttered gasps that the boy makes. He wants more noises, and knows the best way to get them.   
Shiro takes Lance in his mouth, sliding past wet lips, over his tongue and keeps going. He keeps going until his lips press right up against Lance’s tufts, the boy’s dick snug in his throat. 

He swallows once. 

Lance’s long dexterous fingers snarl painfully tight in Shiro’s fringe, holding him immovably still as a pleasured cry breaks free from pinched lips. He comes right down Shiro’s throat, calling out “Daddy” as he does, eyes tearing from the _everything_ he feels.   
_“Oh fuck... Daddy I can’t…_ I don’t— oh shit... oh, _oh... every goddamn time,”_ Lance gasps out, his breath catching as his entire body rides out the orgasm. 

Shiro can feel Lance’s racing pulse against his tongue, feel just how fast his heart his pumping in his body from the high of release. He’s limp, cock still sheathed in Shiro’s throat, but the man’s not going to release him just yet.   
_The funs just started._

Two hands reach up to the fingers in Shiro’s hair, unwinding Lance’s fingers from his locks and in between his digits to allow himself to move. Slow, methodically movements bring Lance up to half hard in a matter of minutes, and by the time he’s fully erect and leaking into Shiro’s throat, he’s a mewling whimpering mess, begging for more.   
Shiro swallows again, the muscles of his throat moving around Lance, listening to the keening. Lance can’t stop himself from rutting up, practically fucking Shiro’s throat. Shiro is quick to hold him down with two hands, drawing back for much needed air.  
Lance smiles down at him, blissfully relaxed, until Shiro speaks. 

“You came.” 

Lance’s smile vanished, eyes wide, lips parted. “I forgot Daddy,” he said quickly, voice hitching to the breath of air Shiro blows on the his dick. “Sorry, sorry Daddy, I’ll be good,” Lance whimpers, body twitching as he fights the instinctual rut when Shiro takes him in his mouth again. 

“I’m sorry Daddy, I’ll be good, I’ll listen, I won’t come again till Daddy says so,” Lance weeps, eyes wet still, his whole body shaking. Shiro cocks an eyebrow, making a little “oh” noise in his throat, seeing as he can’t talk with Lance’s dick still sat on his tongue. _Oh dear, did that just make his throat vibrate? The throat and mouth that Lance is currently occupying?  
Oh dear, how very unintended. _

Lance is moaning again, ripping fingers away from Shiro’s hands in favour of snagging his own locks, pulling tight. It looks like it hurts, and the man wants to reach out and stop him, eyeing the way the fingers are quick to abandon his hair, instead reaching for the cute pucker nubs of his nipples, still erect from where Shiro had been biting and licking them earlier.   
It’s hot. _Unbelievably_ hot. 

Shiro hums again, pulling Lance from inside him before he can come again. He rubs his thumb on the underside of Lance's dick and lets the tip of his tongue map out the underside of Lance’s pretty cock.   
He takes him again; not all the way like he did before, something a little safer that isn't likely to make Lance lose it right away. “Daddy, god… more daddy, let me come again,” Lance babbles, pinching his nipples as Shiro scissors open his hole, readying him for his own entry.   
“Hmm?” Shiro hums curiously, letting the noise run through Lance. The boy chokes on his words, stomach muscles clenching as Shiro brings him to the edge again, then all at once, there is distance again as Shiro pulls back and stands up. 

Lance watched, body lucid and not quite following the other’s motions. His head was heavy, focus on the fact Shiro had stopped before he came for a second time. Now he’s kneeling over him, holding the boy’s arms, trailing kisses, nibbles and little suckling touches as he had done to his legs. There’s something on the edge of consciousness, barely aware Shiro is holding his feet and wrists at the same time. _Huh? That makes no sense._  
He doesn’t say anything, reverting to trying little begs. “Daddy I want to come, please let me come Daddy,” he said, repeating the phrase, changing it up now and again. 

“But you already came,” Shiro reminds him, making no move to allow the boy release. Lance whimpers at the denial, apologising again, begging for touches, saying it hurts in a rush of excuses. But nothing he says draws Shiro’s attention to the budding tip of his dick; leaking pre-come that dribbles down to mix with the saliva that Shiro had left there. “Please Daddy, let me come.” 

Shiro stops Lance as he claims his lips, but then he’s moving up, wrists guiding Lance’s up above his head, pinning them there with a length of rope that has remained permanently tied to the mattress slats since the second time Shiro decided Lance needed his hands bound. 

Lance looks up lazily, eyes widening to the sight of leather braces encircling his wrists. He hadn’t seen Shiro put them on him, nor thought that man would. They’d briefly talked about an easier way than just the tie --- Shiro feeling guilty over the marks it made last time, and the braces were easy. The ones on the wrist Lance had worn before. The ones he hadn’t were the ones around his ankles.   
“What are you up to Daddy?” Lance asked with a half smile, watching Shiro ties the black rope through the little metal hooks on the braces. He didn’t answer, so much as smile, before slipping off the bed again, coming to stand at the foot of the bed to marvel his boyfriends strapped up and tied down. He didn’t restrain Lance’s feet though, that was for later. 

The freedom lets Lance pull his knees up, planting his feet on the sheets, thighs wide and open to give Shiro the perfect view as he stands there, mind running wild.   
“Come on Daddy, fuck me.”  
“Do you deserve it?” Shiro asks, standing at the base of the bed. He’s torturing himself, keeping himself away from the banquet that is begging to be feasted upon, but teasing Lance is fun too. “I’ll be good,” Lance says again, shaking his hips, trying to make himself even more delectable.

The mattress dips as Shiro climbs closer, straddling Lance with a knee pinned on either side of his torso, careful to keep his weight raised up off of him.   
For a long moment, Shiro does nothing but stare down at Lance. His eyes take in everything he can, sweeping up and down, mouth moving but no sound released as he marvels Lance’s body; bare and waiting for him like a sacrifice to the gods. 

Shiro’s fingers twitch like he can’t decide where he wants to touch first. He keeps them resting on his knees while he plans his approach, denying Lance any touch. Only his heavy gaze caresses the length of Lance’s body, pausing in certain spots: the ghost of a curve at his hip, the soft skin of his belly and the dusty pink colour of his nipples. The way his arms give an occasional twitch from above his head, not used to the angle their pulled at. 

Meanwhile, Shiro’s cock is hard where it’s curving up from his groin, pressed flat to his abdomen, slightly intimidating as it hovers over Lance’s midriff. It’s close, and impossible not to stare at.   
And Lance wants so badly to reach out and touch it, wrap his fingers around the tip and feel it pulse against his palm, but he can’t. Shiro has bound his arms and it’s Shiro who is in control. He just keeps looking down at Lance, hidden expression behind his admiring eyes.   
Lance feels his cheeks heat, twitching his legs from the intensity of the man’s gaze. “You’re so fucking needy, like a slut,” he whispers. Lance hides his face behind an arm, trying to ignore the embarrassment that fills his cheeks, fuelled by Shiro’s intense gaze. 

The way that Lance angled his face, it opens up his neck, inviting Shiro to taste the skin. He pulls Lance’s earlobe between pinching teeth, dragging lips and sharp teeth down, suckling over the bruised marks on the boy’s shoulder, the ones that are still yet to fade. Some have, remaining only as purplish blemishes on Lance’s otherwise perfect skin. 

_Shiro’s marks.  
Shiro’s claim on this body. _

A growl builds in his chest, muffled by Lance’s cry when teeth sink into flesh, the warmth of the metal tang soaking his tongue, the taste overwhelming. Lance’s breathing hitched, his heart rate speeding up from both pain and pleasure. Shiro could hear it; feel it on his cheek as it pressed against the boy’s neck; his jugular pulsating.   
Shiro didn’t understand why Lance loved it when he marked him like this, but he wasn’t one to complain. The guilt of hurting him was easy to ignore in the heat of things, and he always made a point of never biting sensitive skin, nor biting too deeply. Just enough to break skin and taste blood. Leave the mark and leave his scent on this boy who was his to emblazon. 

The initial bite is masked with loving kitten kisses, little lapping motions to stop the sting that Lance can no longer feel. He’s too aware of his empty ass and his throbbing erection that knocks against Shiro’s as the man hovers over him. Eyes open, looking down, he sees his erection and Shiro’s; just as hard, if not harder.   
_No, definitely harder:_ Lance has already come once, but Shiro has yet to feel release. 

A small, sad sound escapes the boy’s lips, and Shiro quirks his brow; intrigued. He scans Lance’s face before following the path of the boy’s gaze. Shiro bites back a smug when he realises that Lance is eyeing up his throbbing dick.   
_Idea!_

“You like that?” he asked in a breathless whimper, calling for Lance’s eyes on his. With gazes locked, Shiro reaches down to where his and the boy’s cock stand, close to one another. 

The boy watches, helpless, as Shiro ignored his cock, instead enclosing a firm hand around himself. He starts to play with himself, teasing Lance with the motion of sliding a fist over his cock. It’s a slow performance; much like the touches that he’d been teasing Lance with, but now Lance only gets to watching, Shiro isn’t touching him at all. 

The teasing is working. 

Shiro takes his time; _of course he takes his time._ He treats his own cock like he would treat Lance’s when he teases him on the edge of an erection for hours at a time; fingers exploring all the aspects of the six and a half inch penis, stroking easily, enjoying it. He gives himself a squeeze, around the base where he’s the thickest, jutting out from a neat patch of hair. 

Lance is glued to the display like he’s hypnotised, watching as Shiro dips down to cup his balls, rolling them in his palm, making the tip twitch at the touch. He slides back up over the shaft, thumbing at a vein there, letting out these little moans like Lance does, letting his eyes close.   
He tries to imagine this is Lance’s hand, or perhaps his feet like that night in Casanova’s. _Oh god, and afterwards, he fucked him in his car and he was moaning and they were fucking in the car park—_

Shiro groans, shuddering as the memory just _does things_ to him. He’s harder now, a little lost in pleasure to remember he’s teasing Lance with the display. He curls his fist up and starts tugging gently in quick little pumps, just below the head. 

An eye open shows him Lance, pink as his cute little nipples, watching, powerless, his fingers clenching into fists where he’s pulling at the rope on the braces. He wants to touch too, but Shiro has stopped him. 

_Almost._

Lance rolls his hips upwards, bringing his dick up to brush the underside of Shiro’s hand. He stills when Shiro does, bottom lips caught between teeth as he waits for Daddy to admonish him.   
Daddy doesn’t, smirking at the neediness of his baby, wrapping a firm hand around both dicks, keeping them pressed together with long fingers. Shiro’s breathing picks up as he jerks them off together, letting out an occasional grunt that has Lance writhing under him who voices his own needy noises.   
A tell-tale shudder warns Shiro his baby is close, releasing him then.   
_It’s all a part of the game._

“Not yet baby. I’m still punishing you for coming without me.”

Lance’s eyes open wide at the cold air brushing on his dick, no longer enclosed in Shiro’s grasp. He can’t do anything else except watch, listen and salivate as Shiro tugs himself to the edge, right where he wants to be with him. Doing nothing is getting more and more frustrating. 

Shiro touching himself always does _something_ to Lance, but like this, tied up and unable to join in, worse still: been given just the lightest, the barest of touches then denied anything further is a hundred times worse.   
Shiro is teasing him, testing his ability to follow the wordless order of sit back and watch. Lance abides, his eyes trained on each movement of the man’s hand, wishing so much for his own cock to be inside his grasp, to have his hands clawing marks on his back, leaving his own claim, his own collar of ownership to the would-be potential fuck buddies Shiro keeps on the side. 

Laid there, helpless beneath the perfection of a man, Lance soaks up everything he can see; the vein the bulges in his forearm, his bicep flexing whenever he pumps his fist over his cock, slapping wetly back to the skin of his groin.   
The sounds are positively filthy, broken now and again by the soft sounds of gasps from both of them, Shiro’s laboured breathing where he’s keeping himself on the edge and the odd occasional groan when eyes slip closed and the man is pulled into fantasies and memories of the night in the car park. 

Lance is dying for some kind of attention. His cock, still hard and leaking, stands neglected. It’s aching to be back in Shiro’s mouth again, his ass equally aching for something to penetrate deep inside him, pound into him mercilessly. 

Shiro begins to slow, his chest flushed and glistening with sweat. He opens his eyes, lifting his head to find Lance’s gaze, but the boy remains transfixed on the motion of the man’s hand. He rubs his thumb in a little circle over the tip, coaxing, swirling circles in the trail of pre-come that collects there, wet and shining like elixir as it dribbles down his thumb. 

Lance actually mewls for it, desperate, his arms struggling fitfully against his restraints. He doesn’t care how needy he sounds, Shiro likes it when he makes noise, so he’s always made a point of making more than what is simply drawn from him when the man plunges deep inside. But he’s not plunging into him now, making a mess of him on the mattress, he’s simply jerking himself off and not letting Lance play too. 

“Daddy, daddy please,” he begs, clinging to the rope that won’t budge, not caring for anything other than the desire coiling inside him because _he wants to have Shiro in his mouth. He wants his cock; he wants to taste, to suck it, drain it of all that perfect elixir Shiro._  
Shiro eyes him, hand stilling on his cock. “Daddy let me have a taste, I want a taste,” he breaths, looking up to the man who holds himself above him, puppy-dog eyes pleading for just a taste. 

Shiro bring up his thumb, barely close enough to the boy’s mouth before Lance sticks out his tongue and laps it up, laving every inch of it, treating it like it’s the dick he desperately wants to suck.   
Shiro is watching him with an unreadable expression, but Lance isn’t done. Shiro was teasing him with the display, but now it’s his turn, head bobbing, tongue licking kisses all up the small but thick girth of the human-thumb. He’s barely started on his seductive performance when Shiro withdraws his thumb. He scoots closer, raised on his knees, holding his cock around the base, guiding himself forward until the tip rest’s in the space above Lance’s wide open, begging mouth. The corners are wet, slick with saliva and the pre-come the drips from cock-head to panting lips. 

“You’ll make me feel good too, yeah baby?” Shiro says, his metal hand cupping the boy’s chin, loving strokes of his fingers playing on the soft, warm skin there.   
Lance is quick to accept his gift, tongue darting out for cure little kitten licks to bless the head of Shiro’s slick wet cock. He’s held himself in the air enough that Lance can’t get him in his mouth just yet, but he’s not going to, he’s going to tease Shiro into coming just like the man did to him. 

Shiro hisses out a breath when Lance drags a tongue down his dick, following the one singular vein right to his neatly cropped patch of hair. It’s coarser than his own, the feeling tickling his nose as he puts pressure against the base. Shiro’s shoulders sag at the feeling, arms trembling where he’s keeping himself from flopping down on Lance who is happily wriggling his tongue up and down the man’s length. He traces over his slit, kissing in between licks, lapping up the pre-come there tasting the taste that is intrinsically Shiro.   
“Daddy,” Lance sighs, pleased when even more dribbles out, his cock getting impossible wet with saliva and seed. His own cock trembles, but the notion is ignored in favour of licking Shiro clean. 

Shiro still wears that indiscernible expression, nudging himself forward, dipping the tip of his cock head inside Lance’s pliant, open mouth.   
Lance hums appreciatively, closing his lips tight around him, forming a seal over the warm throbbing skin, his eyes falling closed as he starts to suck amidst little licks straight on Shiro’s leaking slit. 

“Fuck, baby,” Shiro whispers through gritted teeth, swaying forward on juddering legs. He manages to catch himself on the headboard, panting hard at the sensation of Lance around him. He’d been around Lance earlier, and loved him inside him, but there was something about the way Lance smiled up at him, silently thanking him for a taste of daddy’s cock.   
He hums appreciation, Shiro throwing his head back because “ _god baby that’s good, so good.”_ Lance’s skin glows at that, knowing he’s making him feel good, sucking on his cock like this.

With the way the boy’s arms are restrained, he can only manage to rise up slightly from the mattress, bobbing his head in little motions as he keep his lips tight around Shiro’s cock. He lays heavy his tongue, his mouth making wet little slurping noises as he sucks, a steady flow of wet dribbling down his throat.   
Lance hums for a moment, pitching his head forward as Shiro’s cock sits further back. His throat convulses slightly, Shiro groaning at the sensation. Lance’s eyes water, but he’s not gagging. He can’t breathe now, but that’s okay, he knows he can take the man deeper, although hard considering his position. 

Lance pulls back, forcing breaths steady, knowing if Shiro thinks Lance is forcing himself, he won’t let him suck him off anymore tonight.   
Breaths controlled, the notion of readying himself in more tasting licks to the underside of the man’s shaft before taking him in his mouth again, tongue rolling side to side as he impales his throat with Shiro’s dick. 

Shiro manages to keep his hips still, all want leaking out of him in generous beads of pre-come, twisted groans he keeps quiet behind tight lips.   
He resists the impulse to rut forward and fuck Lance’s cute little whore mouth. He wants more though, and following the swallowing sensation of Lance leading him into his mouth, he leans in slowly, careful not to gag him.   
“Good boy,” Shiro murmurs down to Lance, brushing a thumb behind his ear, moving to his chin to guide him up, giving himself easier leverage to. “Take it all in, baby, just like that.” Lance moans for him. He suckles and slurps, flattening his tongue to lap at the underside, rewarded with more seed that leaks out, bittersweet. 

A stronger urge from his throat pulls Shiro in deeper, and Lance is forced to fight it when his body tells him no. 

He pulls back to catch his breath, pressing needy kisses all over Shiro’s head to hide the fact his throat is scratchy and he wants to cough, but no. “Baby—” Shiro begins, but the word finishes with a _“hng”_ when Lance takes him again this time, right to the hilt, nose buries in scratchy black hair. It hurts, he can’t breathe but by god he’s going to love Shiro that way Shiro loves him.   
He swallows once, twice, _thrice_ and suddenly the cock is gone, in Shiro’s grasp as his grip stops his release before he could come. “Fuck,” Shiro whispers, eyes closed, body shaking. One hand still holds the headboard, his entire body shaking with the need to come but he denies himself, as he denied Lance. 

_“Daddy more,”_ Lance begs, shooting up from the bed to lick what he can get at. Shiro doesn’t deny him this time, letting Lance’s tongue dig messily into the slit for whatever treat he missed. "God Baby, you’re going to make me come,” Shiro moans, to which Lance hums lovingly; doubling his efforts. He thinks over everything he enjoys and plays it out in front of him, no longer trying to force himself to take Shiro full. His throat hurts, and gagging on someone’s dick is a little rude.   
So he laps at the underside, the tip, light kisses and tight presses wherever he can, tasting him, hungering for more. 

Lance is addicted to every sound, every moan, every tiny hitch of breath Shiro makes at his touches, taking each one like praise, each one a little reward, a green light in the right direction as he drags Shiro to the edge. _He wants to make him come._  
But he only gets in a few more slurps before Shiro suddenly pulls back, his cockhead slipping out of Lance’s mouth with a slick pop. Lance gapes up at him, confused and out of breath, his lips wet.

“Not yet baby,” Shiro says softly, thumb coming up to catch the dribble of saliva from the corner of his mouth. “I want to come when I’m in you.”   
Lance preens at that, hole twitching desperately to be filled. The ache he had been ignoring is back, his body writhing for the feeling of being full. “Then hurry up Daddy. I want you to come inside me too.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro’s eyes rake over the breathtaking beautiful sight that sits before his eyes. He feels a little disjointed from reality, not sure if he’s dreaming; heart racing, palms sweaty, breath rough and uneven. If only Lance knew just what he did to Shiro…

The man admires his handiwork again; taking another step back from the bed so he can see the stunning body in perfect detail.   
Lance is laid on his back, knees in the air, splayed slightly from where the rope the binds calf to thigh restricts his movements. Thick ropes wrap around his body, binding his legs, circling around and back again to make cute little diamonds, one over his navel, another between the first and his chest, stopping at a knot that sit firmly in the dip of his clavicle.   
Two ropes loop either of his neck, secured with a knot on his back that sits at the tip of his spine; fastened solidly with several lengths that run to his sides, looping around his upper arm in two separate places. Lance’s wrist remain snug in leather braces, the black rope looped through the wooden slats pulled tighter so his arms are pulled straight above his head. 

The knots and loops are all perfect, each placed deliberately and neatly; winding over Lance’s thighs and his groin, not tight enough to hurt. One pretty black length runs around the girth at the hilt of his dick, held in place by six other holds, pulling it outward. There is slight pressure there, but no tension to get the boy off, nor is their resistance to stop the boy coming when he needs to. 

Lance’s searching gaze is locked firmly behind a blindfold. It was the first knot tied, allowing Shiro to bring out his laptop and follow the online instructions, rather than trying to remember and probably screwing it up.   
_The end result was well worth it._

Against Lance's tan skin, the black ropes and leather straps are perfect. Shiro could happily sit back and admire his work for the rest of his life, but at the same time, there is nothing more that he wants than to ravage the boy beneath his knots. 

Lance is breathing deeply; light shivers wracking his body from anticipation, something Shiro is dragging out. More teasing, and it’s almost like he’s teasing himself with this wonderfully wrapped Christmas gift, right here, waiting for him.   
Those perfect lips are parted with his heavy panting, sweat sheens on his forehead although it’s still slightly cold. The boy looks absolutely delectable and Shiro’s mouth is watering. 

Without a sound, he lowers himself onto the bed, lightly skimming his fingers up the back of Lance's thighs, not bothering to avoid the ropes crossing the tanned skin. Lance shivers, his toes curling and another soft breathy moan leaving those lips.   
Shiro’s fingers make their way to his erection, listening to the sounds of the boy’s hitching pants grow even heavier. "You look so perfect like this," he murmurs, dipping down to kiss the skin of his inner thighs, suckling over the red of a fading hickey. His hands twitch, desperate to touch, to _feel,_ Lance equally ready if his moans are anything to go by.   
The kisses continue, up the thigh, not ignoring the ropes that restrict both of their movements. Shiro skims over Lance’s dick, just the tip of his tongue teasing the slit, causing another shiver to wrack through the boy’s body. His hands skim up Lance’s sides as he settles behind him. 

“So fucking perfect,” Shiro hums, leaning in to kiss Lance’s belly, watching it jump under his touch. He doesn’t hide his amused snicker, feeling the body beneath roaming fingers convulse as he keeps teasing him. He ruts his hips up into Shiro’s hand, a needy plea escaping his lips. "Please daddy..." The way the man’s name rolls off his tongue, full of lust and need is all he needs to spur him onward. 

Shiro curls his fingers around the rope harness on Lance hips, a hefty handful in each palm before pulling him roughly into Shiro’s lap. The restraints pull his arms tighter above his head and Lance cries out. “Please, please Daddy!”   
"Please what? What do you want me to do to you baby?" Shiro asks, reaching up, fingers at the knots that keep hands still. Lance only seems half aware his hands have been freed; his arms remaining where they lay on the pillow. Shiro releases the knot in favour of running his hands down the boy’s lightly toned stomach, close to the throbbing of his dick that lays heavy on his stomach. 

Shiro traces the thin length of rope that circles the base of his shaft and Lance moans into the pillows. "Please fuck me," he begs, shaking his hips to emphasise he’s bursting for release. "I want Daddy’s cock in me, please…. Daddy I want to be fucked,” he pleads, babbling inconsistently, begging to be marked, to be claimed, for Shiro to fuck him deep.   
His desperate need to have Shiro inside him gets the man even more excited, he can’t explain what it is when listening to Lance call out to him like that, but god he fucking loves it.

Lance has brought so much out of Shiro. He had never thought himself one for all this kinky shit, and although he still preferred classic vanilla and plenty of cuddling and fluff; it was a privilege to be able to see Lance like this, a privilege to be called Daddy, to listen to the lusty cries when he slammed the boy deep, when it almost got too much and the boy slipped to another reality… 

_It is a privilege._

“Come on baby, I’ve got one more gift for you,” he said, scooping Lance up in his arms, leading him to his weight frame in the corner of the room….

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance shivers in the darkness, straining to hear for Shiro; unable to see him for the blindfold that covers his eyes. It does its job well, too well for Lance’s liking. He wants to see. He wants to know where Shiro is and what he’s planning, but the ideas that run in his mind and the fact that he _doesn’t_ know are doing fucking wonders to his still-hard, ready-to-burst dick.

Lance remains standing; hands held aloft in the air, listening. Waiting. Anticipating Shiro’s next move.   
Despite not knowing where the man is, Lance can still feel his gaze on him. He can feel it; ghostly touches roaming over each fading bite mark, all the hickies he’s left, his glistening skin that remains blushed with goose bumps from the chill in the air. 

He’s bare and open, standing with his arms raised like a man calling for surrender. Lance will surrender to Shiro’s touches, he already had, but he wants Shiro to touch him, feel him, fill him up and fuck him till he can’t move. Lance feels his mind wander, the sensation of _everything_ still numbing the edge of his mind as fantasies take spotlight in the waiting. He’s not sure if he can feel Shiro’s breath on his skin, but just imagining it has him rock hard, knees quaking under the tightness of the ropes that restrict his movements.   
Excitement alights his entire body, his subconsciously dragging upwards in the empty air, trying to find friction. With nothing but the chill of a silence December night, Lance can’t catch the whine that bubbles up from the pit of his stomach, desperate for release. 

“Are you already this far gone?” 

Lance’s body tense up at the sound of Shiro’s deep velvet voice murmuring words right in front of him. He can feel the phantom caress of his breath on the sheen of his forehead, the boy leaning his head back, begging to be kissed.   
Shiro doesn’t close the distance between them. “I’ve hardly touched you since tying you up and you’re practically dripping all over the place.” A light touch nudges Lance’s erection. He whimpers when the fingers are removed, hips shaking, shoulders already aching from where they’re being held above his head. His wrists hurt from the weight of tension between gravity and the rope that keeps his hands up in the air, away from his weeping erection and emptiness that is still begging for Shiro to fill him. 

“Shiro—”   
“No,” Shiro says, a hand on the boy’s chin, thumb in, pulling at the corner of his lips to silence the word. “It’s not Shiro is it?” Lance bobs his head. “Daddy,” he breaths, kissing the hand that touches him. It’s gone too soon, tapping the rope that cages Lance’s body, pulling on it in places until the tightness bites at him. He’s gasping, panting, out of breath. Lance’s knees are weak where he’s being made to stand, his shoulders hurt from the heaviness of his arms. 

“Daddy, daddy please.”   
“What do you want me to do?”   
“Touch me.” Lance’s reply is breathless, his hips rutting forward to the sound of Shiro’s deep chuckle. “Touch you where?”   
“My dick. My ass. Anywhere Daddy, please… _please touch me.”_  
“Anywhere?” 

Shiro hums. His voice is closer now, his breath no longer on Lance’s forehead but over his chest. A hand reaches out to the bar-like taut rope that criss-crosses like diamonds, finger pausing on the knot that sits above the clavicle. Lance hums as the finger trails down, another joining before suddenly his nipples are caught between pinching fingers.   
Lance’s breath hitches in his throat, caught before he can cry out. Then the fingers are gone. “Was that enough?”   
“No.”   
“No? No that was enough, no, _you don’t want anymore?”_ Lance gasps as the words paint over his skin, quick to correct Shiro. “More, Daddy I want more.”   
“Hmm, good boy,” Shiro hums, about to move in, but Lance is speaking again, quick, head tilted back. “My cock Daddy, touch my cock.” He hears the rumbling laughter before Shiro seals his lips on the boy’s neck. 

“As baby wishes.” 

He runs a finger down Lance’s throbbing length, peppering kisses on the skin beneath his mouth as he does. Lance feels his cheeks heat up as heavy bead of pre-come spills from the head. “Why thank you,” Shiro whispers, capturing the leak in his hand, smearing it down Lance’s length as he gives him several experimental tugs. Lance strains at the ropes, leaning back, hips forward into Shiro’s hand as he works him harder, stroking the lengths with long, torturous slides of a gently cupped hand.   
“Tighter,” Lance pleads, fucking Shiro’s hand again with another thrust of his hips. Upon Lance’s request, Shiro’s grip tightens. “Is this what you want? You want me to keep touching you like this? Just you, fucking my hand?”   
“No, no Daddy! I want you in me!”   
“Oh, you want me?”   
“Yes Daddy I want you, I want your cock deep inside of me, I want to come when you come, inside, filling me up.” Shiro says nothing, but Lance can practically hear him smirking, loving the way that he’s dominated Lance, body and mind. Lance squirmed, feeling the gaze on his body again; suddenly not-so-confident with how he’s shamefully shagging Shiro’s hand. 

“What is it?” Shiro asks. He’s moved away again, standing back to admire his work of art. “Do you feel exposed? Don’t you like it how you’re displaying yourself in front of me, acting like _my little slut.”_  
Lance’s eyes widen under his blindfold, whimpering at the words that heat his cheeks and wet his eyes. He hadn’t even realized that he had been trying to shut his legs, knees pinned together no matter how hard it was to stand there, arms pulled up higher as he tries to hide the shame; erect from thoughts, words and light touches.   
He bites his lip, attempting to cover up his embarrassment and the fact that the filthy name calling has him silently begging for more.   
“Uh oh Baby, that won’t do,” Shiro tuts, the sound of feet moving. 

Suddenly something smacks him across his cheek. Lance jerked at the touch, mouth wide at the unexpected sensation, shocked at the sudden turn from pleasure to pain. 

Breathless and watering eyes, Lance lost himself for a moment, chest constricting at the slight sting that remained from a heavy hand upon his cheek. But so did Shiro’s hand, fingers trailing like water droplets, making their own path across his skin.   
A few more gentle caresses and then the hand was removed, only to return in a light, full claiming slap across his quivering buttocks. It wasn't meant to hurt, the sting only a fraction more powerful than the first. Lance closed his eyes. 

It wasn't long before the strikes began to increase in their intensity, although each time there was brief respite where Shiro would caress the skin, pressing touches up and down the slowly reddening skin. He would soothe him with the touches, offering comfort from the light stings, but not to the ache of want that pooled behind Lance’s still-standing erection. Lance rolled his lip between nipping teeth, biting back each moan that swelled within him.   
To each of Shiro’s careful questions and probing dirty talk, Lance would utter back the word “again,” curling the word into a breathy moan, preening the first time he said “ _harder”_ and Shiro had choked back a surprised noise. Lance urged Shiro faster, harder, _more,_ until it wasn’t long when Shiro upped his game. 

After a brief distance between them, Lance once more felt pressure against the supple of his ass. “This one might sting a little, so let me know if it hurts too much and we’ll stop,” Shiro warned, stroking his hand up and down, following the line that parted each cheek from the other. 

The warning fell on deaf ears as Lance remained somewhere else. He’d been denied release for a while now, the lightly biting of the rope increased when he strains at them from the spankings. He can hear Shiro talking, thinking he wants affirmation for something or other, not quite sure what the man means, although his hand does feel slightly cooler than before.   
It’s not something he’s paying too much attention too, head, albeit fuzzy, favours attention of his cock that continues to twitch; hung thick and erect between his legs, dripping eagerly from the few light touches from Shiro’s fingers. It was a new experience; his body respond to little strikes of pain, but it wasn’t like he was complaining as Shiro pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He wanted relief on his dick, noting the rope that hugged the hilt of his girth, but no amount of thrusting would give him the tension he wanted to make himself come. 

“Daddy,” Lance urged, hoping to get some of the friction off his ass and around his cock. 

Suddenly, his hand came back down over Lance’s ass, perfectly capturing his right cheek with a wicked crack, the smack echoing throughout the small bedroom and nearly lost under Lance's forced cry. He choked on the noise, not quite sure why the feeling had changed.   
The second strike came. It wasn’t the flesh of Shiro’s hand, neither the metal of his prosthetic.   
This felt different. And it _hurt._

It was a totally brand new sensation that rocked him to his core; just when he thought the sting couldn't get any stronger, it did. The bite, beginning to dull on his right cheek was mirrored with glaring clarity as the leather struck him. 

“How’s that baby,” Shiro hummed, kneeling down to lick the sting.   
“Good,” Lance choked out, feeling his knees quiver again, the strength fading fast as his mind slipped to the pleasure of being spanked. The crack of the leather sent skittering jolts of pain across his bare ass and deep to his gut, the feelings of each crack much like the thrust of Shiro’s hips, feeling the man penetrate deep inside of him without actually being inside of him.   
While he tested his tolerance for pain, his ability to ward off the need to orgasm was diminishing as quickly as the strength of his legs that kept him standing, arms tied above to the frame of Shiro’s gym equipment. 

“Baby?”  
“M’ good,” Lance sighed, leaning into and arm, letting his shoulders and rope bear the weight of his body, knees slipping. 

Shiro stood abruptly. Lance heard and felt him move, gasping when a tight arm hooked under his thigh, hoisting him up, guiding legs to lock around Shiro’s abdomen. “Careful,” he said, a supporting arm on the base of the boy’s spine, just above the sting of the spanking. Lance made the sound of coming, surprised by even himself; hips canting up to the pain, the pleasure, the feeling of Shiro there, supporting him. 

“Fuck, you’re horny,” Shiro breathes, holding Lance there, two invasive fingers slick with come invading the puckering hole. Lance keens to the sensation, throwing his head back at the pressure of sensitive skin and the fulfilment of the ache that he’s been begging to have filled since the start. Now Shiro obliges.   
Scissoring fingers work him open, the teasing game abandoned as Shiro forces a third, then a fourth finger to the scraping motion that delves deep inside Lance. He’s forced back against the bite of rope, the scratching just that much more feeling igniting his skin in sparks of electricity. 

“So good,” Shiro groans, leaning closer to lay crescent scars over the top of the hickey marks, crooking his fingers in just the right way. Lance cries out, his cock quivering at the closeness to the edge he is. It’s what Lance wants, but then, not enough. He doesn’t want to be fucked by Shiro’s hand, pulling in and out of him in quick little thrusts. He wants deep plundering digs, he wants Shiro to drive into him, melt him from the inside with their heat combined, too hot to handle, too much to focus on everything.   
He wants his mind numb, he wants to be gone. He wants Shiro to fuck him into oblivion and be left in euphoria. 

Lance clutches at Shiro’s shoulders, tipping his head back, eyes closed, mouth open. Shiro kisses his neck and pumps his fingers in and out of Lance’ tight hole in rapid succession, feeling the ring of muscle relax, letting him invade further.   
“Come on, Daddy, I’m ready.”  
“Just let me—”

“Fuck me,” Lance growls, a command more than a request and Shiro can’t say no.

Lance digs his fingers into Shiro’s back when Shiro finally, _finally_ lines up cock head to puckering hole. There’s barely a moment to breathe before Shiro drops Lance onto his dick, the boy screaming as he falls right to the hilt.   
Shiro is fucking him deeper than he ever has before, the weight and gravity pulling him down onto that thick hard rod that leaks his seed inside Lance’s thirsty hole. “More, more,” he pants, clawing lines onto whatever skin he can get at. 

Shiro pulls back, not out, but back, suddenly slamming back in with a heavy thrust of his hips that rips scrams from Lance’s drooling lips.   
“Like this?”  
“Yeah,” Lance pants. “Just like that. _Daddy, god daddy, I_ —” He chokes on whatever he was going to say, screaming Shiro’s name as the man pulled back, slammed in, back, in, again and again. 

And Lance is rock hard and just trying as hard as he can to pull Shiro deeper.   
His voice cracks on a moan, all words lost to the noise of making love, stirring up lust into heat and a burning fire that will never be put out. He rides Shiro like he rides music on a dance floor; high on the feeling of the bass that resonates through their bodies, the bright lights of bliss blinding him to all and everything but Shiro inside him, Shiro’s arms around him, Shiro’s lips on his neck, chest, mouth.   
Shiro.   
Shiro, Shiro, Shiro, Shiro.   
Everything is utterly, irrefutably, intrinsically _Shiro._

The two slot together like puzzle pieces, hands gliding over whatever skin the man can get at, Lance’s clawing forward, ignoring the pull of the ropes that suspend him above Shiro’s glorious cock that pounds him again and again, _again and again._  
Shiro doesn’t stop. He’s making all these noises like growls and huffs against Lance’s throat, kissing and biting everything he can reach, laving his chest with his tongue, lapping up Lance’s load with dirty slutty noises that just… just… _oh fucking god._

Shiro grunts, changing trajectory before he’s slamming into Lance with these needy little moans the boy paints down his shoulder, trying to find purchase on the man’s back, fighting the hold of the ropes that still bind upper arm and wrists. “Daddy, daddy hold me,” he repeats over and over, mind somewhere between here and nowhere as the _everything_ he feel blinds him, deafens him and drowns him in so much want he’s gasping for more than just oxygen. 

Shiro knows the moment he his Lance’s prostate: his body arches up, mouth dropping open soundless. He’s beyond talking, beyond words, beyond noise, just focused on _feeling._ Shiro keeps going, aiming for the boy’s sweet spot over and over, until Lance is writhing above him. A slip of the man’s grip and Lance drops. Still suspended by ropes on his wrists, he remains impaled, now Shiro so deep inside him Lance feels like the man is going to break him in half.   
He can if that’s what he wants.   
If Shiro asks it, Lance will give it, _god he’ll give it willing,_ he just wants more. “Shiro, Shiro—” he gasps, over and over, keening to the sounds of Shiro calling his own name as they drag themselves closer and closer to the summit. 

Shiro begins to slow, deliberately, dragging out this moment, dragging out the heat, the lust, the hardness for precious more seconds when there’s only him and Lance in this world and _god he’s so much in fucking love with this kid look what he turns the man into._

“I want you,” Lance breaths against his ear, the material of the blindfold sliding against sweaty skin. Shiro can’t think as he rams himself forward again, the words Lance says lost to their lewd noises. A slight bend of the knees, a readjustment and it feels like Lance is riding him, hands on chest to keep him from falling over although he’s perfectly safe in the rope harness.   
Shiro’s watching his face, imagining eyes closed behind the blindfold, scrunched up in bliss. _He wants to see._

With one hand, Shiro reaches up, fingers tugging on the cord of the blindfold. It won’t come undone, but it comes down, the black material laying around his neck, freeing up that beautiful face. Shiro kisses him. He’s kissed back. They’re kissing together, teeth clashing in the desperation, biting one another trying to get closer, _closer still because it’s not enough, god it’s not enough there’s so much more they want!_

_“Lance,”_ Shiro rasps at the shell of his ear, “ _Lance,”_ and it’s that.   
That fucking sound, the sound of Shiro’s voice, desperate and needy, dripping in so much want Lance is drowning already. It’s the sound of his voice saying _his name_ like that, all rough and growling and utterly blissful that sends the boy over the edge. 

Lance’s entire body shook, legs weak, shoulders aching, but it was a good ache and he barely registered, when suddenly Shiro grabbed his ass and all that sensitive skin. It was too much and Lance was coming, spilling his load messily across his stomach, up, his seed catching his own cheek, dripping down his chin. 

Lance didn’t care. He was coming.   
Shiro is coming too. 

When Shiro comes he bites into the flesh of Lance’s neck and holds him tight. It was that moment, _there in that moment,_ when Shiro held Lance, one arm supporting his back as he held him; somewhere between Lance screaming in pleasure and Shiro holding him tight as he rides out another orgasm where Lance’s brain just…   
The white light of pleasure around the edges of his lack-of-vision filled his mind, the sounds of his own wanton lust muffled, like he lay under warm water, without needing to breathe. His body’s still buzzing with pleasure, Shiro’s sporadic thrusts still pulling little shocks through him. He’s on fire, he’s burning up but he’s calm and cool too. Lance feels shocked with electricity when he tries to lift his head and lets it fall back to where it was, hanging limp in the air, partially listening to someone softly calling to him. 

_Someone is calling him._

“Lance, baby.” Shiro sighs into the boy’s shoulder, pulling back. “Hey baby, I’m right here,” Shiro hums softly, pulling Lance into his arms, letting his head rest in the crook of Shiro’s neck.   
The man feels light fluttering breaths against his skin as his hands find the clips to the braces, the knot of the harness, unwinding the confines, pulling Lance from where he had been tied to his weight frame. 

“Lance can you hear me?” The boy made a little noise in the back of his throat, much like a purr, but nothing else. It had Shiro smiling as he carried Lance back to the bed.   
Lance doesn’t move as Shiro unwinds the rope in soft tugging motions, the fluid black snake releasing its prey to the soft touches of Shiro’s loving palms, sliding up and down his skin. 

Lance can feel the touches, but it means nothing to his conscious, unlatched from reality as he floats between here and nowhere, a bed of clouds and a breeze so soft it tickles his skin. There’s a sudden light, but Lance doesn’t even have the energy to shy away from the abruptness, staring upwards in odd fascination.   
He remained laid, boneless, eyes glazed, barely able to note the throbbing throughout his entire body and the blissfully mindlessness that hung in the room like morning dew. Everything was surreal; sharp and soft all at once and not at all. He was here and he was nowhere, he was and he wasn’t all at once it made perfect sense. And yet, it didn’t. 

He just _was._  
And was was good. 

It’s slow, but Lance begins to drift back to a level of understanding.   
He becomes aware of a voice caressing his conscious; the words honey on his skin as he bathes in their praise. “Hey,” they call him, a smile on lips belonging to a man that Lance can’t help but smile up at; hypnotised. Shiro’s hand cards soothing thought he strands of his fringe, the muffled sounds echoed in the distance. 

More minutes pass and the words become discernible. “Lance, how are you feeling?”   
“I’m…. I’m…” Lance tired to speak, but the words were thick and foreign on his tongue. _“I feel like I’m floating.”_  
“That’s good,” Shiro crooned gently, his hand moving over Lance’s body fondly, wiping his shoulders with warmth that clings to his skin. “Just relax baby, you’re fine, I’ve got you.” 

“You’ve got me.”   
“That’s it, I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, no plot just smut. That’s okay right? ☆ ～(^▽^人)


	15. Espresso Patronum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie marathon means an entire night of chilling out with the gang. The others take the chance to tease Shiro about his boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sorry, but this was just to try and get around a little bit of writer's block I'm experiencing.

**Sunday 10th December**

“And how many times have you seen this again?” Keith asks, hand noisily crinkling the packet of nuts as he scoffs yet another mouthful. “Not enough,” Lance says with a bite, waving at him to quite down, just as the Goblet Of Fire burst into wondrous blue flame for the fourth time. “I doubt that,” Keith grumbled, watching Lance mouth along to Dumbledore’s lines.   
It’s Sunday night and they’re sat in the living room, eyes glued to the screen of the Fourth Harry Potter instalment, Lance constantly thumbing the _volume up_ button when someone speaks. He’s given Keith plenty of glares, Allura and Shay too, although they’re much better than the Mullet who had argued for a solid ten minutes about wanting to watch Game Of Thrones instead. 

“Leave him be Keith. Just because you’re not as head over heels with the magic doesn’t mean Lance can’t be.” Pidge snatched the packet of nuts out Keith’s hand, helping themselves to a huge mouthful that left their cheeks bulging and lips barely able to close, the imitation to a gerbil enough to make everyone burst into laughter. They all received death threats, Keith and Lance receiving physical blows to their shoulders considering they sat on either side of the gremlin. They didn’t appreciate _that_ nickname either. 

Lance had formally been invited to Shiro and Keith’s monthly movie marathon, taking his claimed seat on the sofa, cross-legged, defending his personal tub of ice cream as he sat through nineteen hours and forty two minutes of Harry Potter.   
His fellow Potterheads liked to take advantage of the brother’s huge flat screen with surround sound speakers and sofa suite that could happily sit them all; Pidge, Matt, Allura, Beezer, Shay and Hunk. 

Finding out Pidge, Beezer and Hunk shared the same Robotic Science Programme in Uni had been a nice surprise, meaning lunchtime meals in the cafeteria expanded three tables rather than two, and both he and Shay, who ironically was friends with Allura, were also invited to the movie fest, making the merry band of friends grow that much more. 

The only downside….   
Hunk now knew who Shiro was. The one Lance had wanted advice on the last time he texted Hunk amidst a near-mental break down about the guy that’s currently sharing a stove with said-Hunk, helping prep lunch they’d been putting off since the end of the second film.  
That was… _fine._ If Lance said he wasn’t worried, he’d be lying. He hadn’t been able to get a few minutes with Hunk, to drag him off quickly and beg him not to say a word, to Shiro or to anyone.   
But Lance needn’t worry. Hunk wouldn’t spill. He was his best friend and he always had Lance’s back. 

“You know, I still prefer the book’s version of this,” Shay said as she petted Moggy, watching Dumbledore tear down the stairs, grabbing Harry by the collar like they’re pro-wrestlers and practically choke the answers out of him. “I think we all do,” Lance agreed. He’s made plenty of Tumblr posts about it, but he’s been willing to let it slide on the excuse of the director’s expressive creativity.   
That sparked a discussion between all about the things dropped from the book; everyone’s equal dismay for the lack of Peeve’s, the “Weasley Is Our King,” some classic Harry/Draco action that got swept to the side, which started a whole other discussion about the Fanlore and so on.  
With everyone crowded around the table half an hour later, the conversation still hadn’t died down, Keith and Lance taking side against one another on many a heated discussion, much to everyone’s amusement. 

They had grown much closer since the reveal of Keith’s desired future, with the Mullet coming to Lance on advice on how to approach Shiro about it. They had talked about just that morning whilst Shiro made a quick trip to the Hospital:  
“You know I’m helping you understand this, but I personally don’t support your decision about joining the army, right.”  
“Yeah, I get it. But it’s easier to think it all through when I’m talking to someone.” 

Lance nodded at that, knowing he always chose to talk about things with his family before deciding on anything. “Why don’t you talk to Hunk about it? He’s pretty good for listening and he’s never judgemental. I was getting relationship advice from him just the other day.”   
“Relationship advice?”  
“Uh… yeah,” Lance said, scratching the back of his neck, picking up Blu to busy his hands, dumping himself on the sofa to stop himself pacing. “But we’re talking about you here, not me. So spill.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, but Lance didn’t give him another chance to ask, and they got back to the current predicament: Keith’s enlistment. 

“I get that you don’t have to get his permission or anything, but you obviously want it.”   
Keith nodded, but that look didn’t disappear right away. “I want to do my part, like he did. But I want him to approve. I don’t want to disappoint him and make him worry all the time I’m out there. It’s not fair on him.”   
“But it’s not fair to ask him to accept. He knows what it’s like out there and he’s just trying to protect you from it.” 

Keith grimaced, dumping himself on the sofa. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”  
“But you’re still his kid brother and even when you’re thirty, you’ll still be his kid brother and he’ll still love you and look out for you.”   
“Well his love is suffocating.”

Lance watched, wondering if Keith knew how petty the argument was.   
It was hard to remain unbiased; for or against fighting. He didn’t like Luis in the Army; it was dangerous, and there were always risks on both sides of the Atlantic. But then, the same could be said for Police Officers and Fire fighters, and someone walking home in the wrong neighbourhood.   
But, if Luis hadn’t joined the Army, then he would never have met Donnie, and Maya would never have married him and they wouldn’t have their children. Luis and Da still might be talking, but that was little consolation prize. 

But there’s still the risk of getting hurt.   
_The risk of dying._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?” Shiro asks, sliding into the space next to Lance as soon as Pidge shifted their ass to refill their glass. “Hmm? Oh yeah, I’m good,” Lance said, shuffling over to give Shiro more room, eyes barely leaving the TV screen.  
Before he could escape though, Shiro looped an arm around his waist and pulled him back, enough that Lance was suddenly sitting on his lap. The boy made a sudden surprised noise, but before he attempted a retreat, Pidge dumped themselves in his space. “ _Budge up Barbie,_ there’s not enough room for all of us on one couch,” they said with a couple of elbow nudges that left Lance’s firmly planted in the crook of Shiro’s hip.

Shiro gives Pidge an approving grin, but they’re already in a heated debate over the logistics of a wizard duel, something or other. Shiro’s focus is on Lance who is laid against him. It’s probably not that comfortable because he’s a little stiff in the way he’s sat. Shiro makes to reposition him, but a hand catches his where it’s holds Lance’s hip and the boy throws a smile over his shoulder.   
“Sorry, can’t you see?” he says, and before Shiro can say he’s fine, Lance is scooting back so his ass his off Shiro’s legs.   
But their bodies are still close together. From here, Shiro can see his ears are bright red, skin on his hips hotter than normal. It seems Lance is _shy._

Shiro smiles into his shoulder, arm around his waist and he pulls him closer. He leaves his arms looped around Lance, much to the boy’s embarrassment, if his whispered curses are anything to go by.   
But the boy’s not totally against it. Lance doesn’t fight him too hard, and it’s not long before he gives up with a sigh, a look cast to the others, and he relaxes into Shiro’s hold. 

By the time Ron is drugged by the love potion, Lance is fast asleep, curled inwards to face Shiro. He really needs to get up to pee, but he doesn’t want to wake his boyfriend who looks _fucking adorable_ where he’s all cute and curled up and—  
Shiro is fucking _smitten._

His bladder shouts louder than his heart however, and he resigns himself to slipping from where legs lay over him like a seatbelt. Lance doesn’t stir; a testament to just how tired he really is. Usually he’s a very light sleeper, and even Hunk makes a point of saying he’s impressed that Lance has relaxed enough to be asleep when the rest of them are all being loud and boisterous as they compare book knowledge to the films.   
“Must be my charm,” Shiro says with a smirk, chest filling with pride.   
Only to have his bubble burst by Matt’s snarky comment of _“cradle robber.”_

“I am not a cradle robber Matt, he’s only four or something years younger than me.” There’s laughter from all of them. “Don’t you mean _he’s_ a cradle robber. I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to be fucking a six year old.”   
Shiro actually flipped him off, much to everyone’s amusement, before running upstairs to hide his blush. 

When he came back down, Allura was waiting for him in the kitchen.   
“So~” she sung in her _I’ve-got-blackmail-on-you_ voice, but before she could continue, Shiro got in first. “Please don’t make this awkward Allura.” Her eyes twinkled, but whatever joke she was about to make didn’t fall past her lips. “In all seriousness though, you two are adorable.” To which Shiro smiled.   
“And it only took me a year of pining after him and two months of sneaking about, screwing at every chance we got.” Allura bit back a smile. “I know. I’ve had Keith re-enact the soundtrack for us several times.” Shiro’s eyes went wide but Allura’s not finished. “I think my favourite is the one where he called you “ _Daddy”_ and Keith nearly died by choking on his cereal.” 

Shiro pushed his hand through his hair, glowering at his little brother who was currently shouting at Malfoy being a douche. “I told the little brat not to say anything.”   
“Like he was going to listen to you.”   
“I said I’d give him half towards his next bike.”   
“You and I both know with one of his work deals he can buy himself the entire bike.” 

Allura handed the man a beer, but he shrugged it off, saying he was driving later. Instead he made himself coffee, then Earl Grey for Allura who was still up for more conversation and picking at the pizza that had been ordered for dinner. They sat together on the table, over-looking their friends and the TV, picking the toppings off of the still luke-warm pizza.

“You’re a lot calmer with him around,” Allura said from around her cup, eyes on Lance who had rolled himself to nestle further into the sofa. “Happier too. Not that you weren’t, but you’re much more open, _calmer.”_ Shiro raises an eyebrow, not really sure what she was getting at. “You used to keep your emotions secret, like you’re still a solider—”  
“I am—”  
“—but the point I’m staying is, you used to be solemn and stoic, but you’re not so much anymore.”   
“Yeah Shiro,” Pidge agrees, leaning over the back of the sofa to snatch up a slice of _Hawaiian._ “Your heart is on your sleeve whenever Lance is in the room. It’s a little revolting actually.” They’re just teasing, but Matt is quick to intervene, noticing Shiro reel back, defensive-like. “You’re not having as many black-outs, even after you get back from the hospital. I know you’ve been today because Keith told me, but honestly, I wouldn’t have guessed if he hadn’t said anything.” 

Shiro leant back in his chair, wondering if it was true. He didn’t really feel like he had changed, except, he was definitely happier now he and Lance were dating. It’s not just the sex, good that stuff could cure a blind man, but just being with the boy, listening to him hum Shakira’s songs as he dances about the kitchen, or the little conversations he has with the adverts when they interrupt his programme or the new-found love for Earl Grey he likes to annoy Keith with or… 

“I just have one question,” Hunk says, raising his hand as if they were in a classroom.   
“What?” Shiro says, his word having a little too much bite than he meant.

“So, when are you planning to propose?”

The room erupts in laughter. Pidge and Beezer clink juice boxes like they’re toasting and Keith is rolled back laughing loudly, slapping Hunk on the back for his joke.   
A smile pulls at Shiro’s lips. They don’t mean anything by their teasing, in fact it’s more like a round-about way of reassuring Shiro he’s doing well with his choice of boyfriend. They’re his extended family, he values their opinion and, teasing aside, he’s glad he invited Lance round tonight.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Lance, wake up.”  
 _“Huh?”_  
“Lance, c’mon wake up.”

It’s Keith, one hand shaking Lance’s shoulder lightly as he rouses him from Dream-land. He’s vaguely aware he had just been racing Kirby on pink sheep in some cotton-candy land. “What, where’s the rainbow?” he asked, but his drowsiness made it sound like he was asking for Rambo.   
Through his tiredness he could hear voices. The TV wasn’t on and the room was dark except for the light by the stairs. Shiro is knelt beside him as he still remains on the sofa. 

“Hmm, what is it?” Lance asks, bleary eyed, palming the tiredness from them as he sits up.   
“Shiro is taking Hunk and the girls home. Are you staying here tonight, or do you need a lift back to your place?” 

Lance doesn’t really want to get up. He’s warm on the sofa beneath the fluffy throw someone has given him, and he can happily spend the night if it means morning sex and a lie in before afternoon classes. 

A glance to the top of the stairs shows everyone stood getting ready to leave. Lance spots Shiro helping Allura. She’s sat on the stairs, obviously falling asleep whilst he helps her into her boots. Hunk and Shay are stood next to one another, chatting happily as they wait for a lift. The Holt siblings and Beezer aren’t there, but Lance is too tired to notice.   
He’s too busy watching Shiro and Allura talk softly with one another, her stumbling upon standing into him with nervous laughter. She’s wearing his coat because she forgot hers and its cold outside. Of course it is: it’s December. 

“Lance?”  
“Yeah, no I should get going. Give me five and I’ll be ready.” He drags himself off the sofa, shuddering at the cold air of the apartment, glancing about apartment that’s quieter than when he fell asleep. 

“What’s the time,” he asks no one in particular, raising his voice so the guys by the stairs will hear him.   
Shiro looks over upon hearing Lance awake, scowling at Keith. “Why’d you wake him? I was going to carry him upstairs once I got back.”   
“And what if he had work tomorrow morning?” Keith shot back, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, I’d like one decent night sleep without having to listen to you fuck his brains out on the other side of the wall.” 

Lance would be blushing if he was listening, but he was too busy fighting with his hoodie to get it over his head and free up his arms.   
“It’s just gone one. I can take you home in the morning if you want to stay the night,” Shiro offers, helping Lance wiggle his way into his jumper without too much hassle. He’s doing that round-about way of asking Lance to stay even as he helps him get ready.   
“No it’s fine, I’m always getting you to drive me places,” Lance says, turning Shiro down and finishing the conversation with one sentence. 

“Dude you should’ve stayed,” Hunk says when they’re sat in the truck, Lance yawning large enough he’s close to dislocating his jaw. Allura claimed shotgun and now she’s blasting Christmas songs out of Shiro’s radio as he attempts to quieten her down.  
Lance leans into Hunk, muttering something about _‘Iverson’s project’_ and ‘ _skipping class.’_

The drive to his apartment is quick – Lance being the closest is the first to be dropped off. With Shay, Hunk and Allura there, Lance offers Shiro no moment of stolen affection like he normally would, instead slipping out the car, offering thanks for the lift and thanks for the movie night.   
Shiro offers to walk him to his dorm, all chivalrous and such but Lance waves him off with a grin and a wave of his mobile. “I won’t get lost I promise. And if I do, I can always call up my knight in shining armour to rescue me.”  
“I thought I was _‘Daddy,’”_ Shiro purred under the radar of Slade’s “ _Merry Christmas Everybody.”_ Lance shoots Shiro a tempered smirk. “I was talking about Keith, but sure, I can spare a little time for you.” 

“Wha—Hey, Lance!” But Lance was already gone.   
His collar up, sleeves pulled down over his hands, he huddled into his jacket as he darted the road and into his apartment block, fingers already painfully cold in the short time he’s spent outside. He’s laughing to himself as he rides the broken elevator up to his floor, humming the Christmas tunes as he fiddles with key in lock. 

It’s cold in the apartment, but that’s for the sake of saving money. Lance keeps his coat on right up till he’s tripping over dirty laundry in his room, pulling off jeans and shoes quickly, tiredness making a full comeback. He’s barely got his joggers on as his eyes lids droop; still clothed in shirt and hoodie as he climbs into bed.   
He’s tired and wants to sleep. But sleep can’t come quick enough as his mind wanders back to the sight of Shiro giving Allura his jacket because it’s cold. 

It _is_ cold.   
Lance pulls his duvet over his head, burying himself in a tight little bundle, praying for sleep.


	16. Low Battery, Need Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance didn’t think he’d be seeing Shiro till Thursday, but a wrong text gives him reason to visit the Cat Café. A little quiet time gets him thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, there’s flashback (written in present tense) in this chapter. If it’s hard to understand throw me a comment and I’ll work on making the flashback easier to separate from the real-time.

**Tuesday 12th December**

_[From: Hot Stuff – 16:43]_   
_ Sorry I know ur busy but im sick. _   
_Cats need dinner_   
_can’t get out bed 2 dizzy_   
_grab urself fd b4 u come round, im not cooking 2nite_

Lance stared at the words again, face pulled down into a tight-lipped frown as he reads and rereads the message for what seems like the hundredth time. It’s been three hours since his phone had received it, but Lance had only read it about twenty minutes ago when he finally got off his Tuesday night work shift. 

Lance reads the text again. He knows that a bad headache means dark room and no noise, so Shiro must be really sick if he’s hurrying through typing it out by using text-talk.   
He _never_ uses text talk. 

Lance didn’t think he’d be seeing Shiro until Thursday; the only night he would allow himself off, despite behind on projects and having accepted two more shifts that week.  
Even tonight he’s still mean to be working for another three hours, but it seems fate is in Lance’s favour considering they’ve just experienced another power cut and it’s backed up all the systems and _yada yada yada._  
Whatever. All Lance needed to understand was that he got early knock off and could get working back on the essay that’s due Thursday morning. 

Or, he would’ve, if he hadn’t seen Shiro’s text sitting meek and small on his phone screen.   
So that’s why he’s here, now, stood at the back door of Shiro’s apartment, a spare key in hand and a bag of groceries in the other. 

Shiro had given him the key some time ago when Rolo had locked Lance out the apartment for an orgy or something noisy and something he didn’t want any part of. Lance had come to Shiro’s for shelter but the man had been out, leaving Lance to chill in an internet café down on Main Street.   
Lance laughed, remembering Shiro’s guilty face when he had told him, then the awkward little way he had handed him a key to his apartment the next time they saw one another; Shiro explaining Lance to use it whenever he saw fit. 

Lance had thought it had been charmingly domestic at the time, fawning over the little key and cute cat keychain that was gifted with it. But this wasn’t the situation he had foreseen himself using it in. 

The click of the lock summoned the furry monsters of hell to tackle him and Lance literally had to vault over the cats to stop himself tripping on them, making kissy noises to lure them out the way of the door before one decides to venture out in the snow.   
Black is quick to jump onto Lance’s shoulder once he’s shaken himself out of his coat, purring, appreciating a perch she’s not been allowed with Shiro’s absence; the rest of the cats appeased by full bowls and a fishy-bite for each of them. 

The café is neat and orderly, leaving Lance to wonder how long Shiro worked today. Perhaps the morning, or up until he sent the text.   
But upon reaching the first floor and finding all the lights are off, Lance realised Shiro hasn’t got up once today. That explains why the cats are as hungry as they are.   
They continue to pester the boy as he flicks on the kitchen light, then the radio because he’s not one for silence; however the volume is low, for Shiro’s sake. He’s probably still in bed. 

Shooing Black to the sofas frees Lance up to start cooking the rice and vegetables he brought with him. Mixed together it’ll be an adequate risotto; easy and light on the stomach, packed full of chicken stock and nutrients to get Shiro’s system up and running again. It’s his own go-to food when he himself isn’t feeling anything other than a pyjama day and lounging on the sofa with his favourite Disney movies. 

While the food begins to cook, Lance heads up to the second floor, unconsciously tip toeing. Keith’s door is open, but the light’s off and he’s not in. Lance already knew as much from the lack-of motorbike that sits in the reserved parking space out back. 

Shiro’s door is closed, upon which Lance knocks lightly before entering. 

The first thing Lance notices when he steps into the room is the heat. It’s warm, but not comfortable warm. More like stuffy warm. 

It’s also pitch black. 

It takes a moment, but the boy’s eyes adjust to the darkness as he stands in the doorway, glaring at the black-out blinds that have been pulled almost to the floor. The only reason he knows the window is there is the filaments of light in a haphazard square, roughly in the same place as the window.   
Yet the light does nothing to fight the gloom and Lance is left scowling at the messy floor that shows deeper shadows of clothes and things that are set out like a haphazard obstacle course. 

Determined not to turn the light on – _because that really won’t help with a headache –_ Lance begins to pick his way through the mess towards the puffy duvet on the bed, and the small tuft of hair that sticks out from underneath it all. 

Lance manages to get to the bed without tripping, or making too much noise other than kicking away one of the man’s shoes. Carefully, he crawls up onto the mattress, taking the short-cut to the man rather than risking breaking his neck on the _something_ he can’t see as he shimmies around his bedside.   
No, quicker is easier and it takes Lance right to Shiro’s side, crawling up past his bundled feet and the toes that poke from the duvet.

Slowly, Lance pulls back the thick comforter, horrified to see even more blankets. Shiro is buried underneath it all, clothes in long thermals and his work-out joggers. He must be seriously cold if he’s got all these layers on.   
He’s sprawled face down into his pillow, drool pooling where his mouth hangs open, leaning more towards unconscious than asleep. 

Lance winces as he brushes a hand against Shiro’s brow, not pleased to find it too-hot and wet from where he’s sweating profusely. He looks like shit, but Lance’s cool hand against him must bring comfort by the way the tension lines in his brow fades out with a content sigh. 

Lance looks on, pityingly. He doesn’t want to wake Shiro, but not doing so will leave him to stew in his own sweat. He hasn’t been up today, so he doubts the man has had anything to eat, let alone drink.   
He must be severely dehydrated. 

“Shiro, Shiro wake up,” Lance calls, wincing when his voice doesn’t come out as a whisper like he hoped.   
His eyes flicker open, not as out-of-it as Lance had assumed, turning his head as he blinked up into the darkness.   
_“—eith?”_ he murmurs. His voice is painfully dry and it buckles him into a bout of destructive coughs. “Sssh, it’s only me,” Lance says, and this time he is able to keep his voice soft, threading his fingers through Shiro’s hair. They work down to the back of his neck where his fingers work at the tense knot of muscles.   
Shiro leans back to the pillow, mumbling something that is lost to the muffle of the bed and the pull of sleep on his voice. 

“Shiro, you can’t go back to sleep,” Lance tells him, wishing he had a glass of water to offer, but he hadn’t brought anything up with him.   
“C’mon, you need to get out these clothes. Have a shower or something while I change the sheets. They’re soaked,” he says, pushing back the duvet to work the massage into Shiro’s back. It rewards him an appreciative purr and a whine when Lance withdraws, eyes glued to the glint of the prosthetic that the man is wearing. 

The skin just above the elastic sleeve is a concerning shade. He can’t tell which colour; blue or black, but its dark enough Lance can see it in the lack-of-light.   
“Oh god Shiro, you need to get that off!”

Lance doesn’t waste any time, fingers hooking the latches down, unwinding the screws that are hidden underneath. He’s glad Shiro let him do it last time because it means he doesn’t miss the third, considerable smaller, screw on the underside.   
Shiro is saying something but it’s lost to the pillow again, his real hand reaching over his head to bat Lance’s hands away. “Piss off Shiro, you’ve had the thing on too long. I’m just taking it off.” 

But when Lance makes to pull off the arm, Shiro cries out in pain. He’s been sleeping on it and the skin has been pinched tight enough, it’s actually broken the skin and made him bleed. The dark shade is dried blood.  
With the prosthetic off, and the clot with it, the cut continues to bleed. 

Lance gapes at the blood tracking lines down towards the bed sheets. _“You stupid fucker,_ look what you’ve done to your arm!”   
He bullies Shiro from the bed, stomach tight as he pushes him into the bathroom and the light where he can see the blossoming bruises working its way up his stump and towards his shoulder. The skin around the metal implant is the colour of Wisteria blooms, yet ugly in comparison.   
Lance doesn’t look as he guides Shiro to perch on the edge of the bath – too dizzy to stand in the shower. He lays a wet flannel on Shiro’s forehead before moving to his clothes.   
Lazarus has come to watch, but hearing the shower, scarpers. 

Shiro is talking all the while he’s undressed but the words are as coherent as a drunks’ at three in the morning outside a kebab shop. Lance does hear one question though.   
“What are you doing here?” he says, lifting his arm to move the flannel that has slipped, lying over his eyes. In the light, he’s pale and around his eyes, the skin is all red like he’s been crying. 

“I’m here because you text me. You said the cats needed feeding and you wanted me to pick up food. I brought dinner. It’s cooking now, so hurry up before it burnings.”

Shiro closed his eyes, frowning. He’s slowly beginning to wake up, separating dizziness and fever from consciousness. “No I didn’t. I text Keith.”  
“Well you must’ve text me by mistake,” Lance said with a shrug, standing back as Shiro took the flannel and finished wiping himself down.

Then he dabbed at the welt on his arm, cringing as he pressed too harsh. “Oh fuck,” he hissed. “That’s going to be a pain when I put my arm back on.”   
“No, no way, _nope._ You are _not_ putting your arm back on, not on my watch!” Lance says, raising his voice because he’s already out the bathroom, heading back to the bedroom, determined to hide the bloody prosthetic. It doesn’t matter if Shiro is self conscious about his missing limb or whatnot; Lance isn’t going to let him put it back on while he’s here.

He hides Shiro’s metal arm in the man’s underwear drawer – not the best hiding place, but it’ll do for the next couple of hours Lance has to nurse the idiot back to health. 

Lance grabs Shiro a fresh outfit of thin clothes, helping Shiro into them now he’s only got one arm. Then he’s back downstairs where the risotto is all mixed together, the rice mushy and dissolving as the water in the pan boils away. Ginger wants attention, but Lance is focused on his phone, texting Keith to ask if he needs food, explaining Shiro is sick and the mix-up in texts. He’s barely pocketed his phone before it buzzes with Mullet’s name on the screen. 

_[From: Mullet – 20:07]  
Hey, thanks for going round. He’s actually a real shit when he’s sick.   
I’m not back till late tonight, I’m out with clients so I don’t need food. _

Lance made to type out a reply, but Shiro took his attention as he made his way down the stairs. He’s found himself a jacket to hide his stump. Lance openly scowls at him for his unnecessary layer, but says nothing towards it, instead, flicking the radio off.  
The cats crowd Shiro at the bottom of the stairs, drawn away when Lance drops some more fishy bites on the kitchen floor, clearing Shiro so he can amble to the table without having to focus too hard on his special awareness. 

“You haven’t eaten or drunk anything today, so you have to at least try this.”   
Lance serves him a bowl and a glass of water, turning back to the stove to dish out his own – he hasn’t eaten yet so he’s taking the chance to eat now – replying to Keith as he does.   
He butters two slices of bread; one for him, one for Shiro when the reply comes in. 

_[Message Sent – 20:10]  
I’ve made too much for the pair of us to eat so I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge. You guys can eat it for lunch tomorrow if you want.   
Also, I’ve hidden Shiro’s arm because he’s been sleeping with it on and cut himself but insisted on putting the bloody thing back on. It’s in his underwear drawer if he needs it. _

_[From: Mullet – 20:10]  
Okay thanks for the food. _

_[From: Mullet – 20:10]  
And seriously he’s left it on again? How bad is the cut? _

_[Message Sent – 20:11]  
Not bad really, it’s only from where the skin has been pinched. I’m surprised he slept through it, but then again, he looks really sick. The idiot wants it, but I told him he shouldn’t put his arm back on till the cut is healed. _

_[From: Mullet – 20:11]  
Sure, I’ll make sure he keeps it off. I’m in my study tomorrow anyway so I’ll keep him out the café. _

_[From: Mullet – 20:11]  
I swear, you cooking and babysitting him, it’s like you’re his fucking wife or something.   
Let me know when he proposes so I can plan the bachelorette party. _ (✧ω✧)

Lance scowls at his mobile, sending Keith a single text of the middle finger emoji before putting his phone on silent and joining Shiro at the table, trying to school his frown into something placid.   
Shiro is too busy to notice, digging into the soup, humming appraising noises with each mouthful. “Thank you,” he breathes. “I didn’t realise how hungry I was. I didn’t really have the energy to cook anything, or get up actually.”   
Lance shrugs, but he smiles as he digs into his own bowl. “You’re feeling better then.”  
“Better than this morning, for sure. I think I got up for an hour, but I couldn’t stay awake and ended up passing out on the sofa, just after texting everyone not to come to work. I must’ve woken up at some point to crawl back into bed, although I don’t remember it.”   
“Nor did you remember to take off your arm.”   
“Yeah, not a good move,” Shiro said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He opts for more food, looking up now and again, but Lance’s head isn’t in the right place for conversation. He’s happy where he is right now, happy to be needed by Shiro to care for him, although he’s conflicted.   
Shiro hadn’t called him, so, did that mean Lance wasn’t reliable. Or was he just being kind, not calling Lance over because he doesn’t want to bother him.   
Or is Shiro trying to redraw that line between them…

“Lance?”  
“Hmm?” the boy looked up at the sound of Shiro’s concern. “You okay? You look angry?”  
“What, oh, no sorry, I was just thinking.” 

Shiro only managed to get through half of his risotto before he began struggling. Lance didn’t encourage him, instead urging him to finish his water at least, handing him some painkillers he had found in one of the cupboards. 

While Shiro followed his orders, Lance changed the bed sheets and threw open the window to cool the room down considerably. With Shiro downstairs, he was able to tidy up some, although that just mainly consisted of throwing the clothes onto the sofa in Shiro’s room; hanging up his work clothes that had been pulled out the wardrobe, although they hadn’t made it off the coat hangers. 

Lance is nearly finished by the time Shiro is climbing the staircase. He lets Lance pull off his jacket, but before Lance can hang it up, he’s pulling him under the covers too. “Sh-Shiro, what are you—”  
Shiro lifts his head, one beautiful brown eye peeking up from underneath his fringe.   
“Please stay?” he asks quietly. 

Lance sighs in the man’s hold, breathing in the scent of Shiro beside him. It’s not hard for him to make his decision. “I’ll stay. But let me at least put the dishes on soak, or they’ll be a bitch in the morning.”   
“Language,” Shiro mumbles in broken laughter and Lance knows he’s feeling better if he’s got the energy to talk back.   
Neither less, Shiro relinquishes his grip, allowing Lance to slip off the bed. He pulls the window to latch, drops the blinds to halfway before gathering up the dirty laundry and carries it downstairs, tossing the clothes just inside the utility room next to Keith’s study. 

The cats have decided to take over the sofa and are sprawled out lazily, apart from Tiger, _the shit,_ who’s sat picking through Shiro’s uneaten bowl to get all the chicken pieces.   
Lance doesn’t bother with scolding him though – it’s his fault for leaving it out. He picks out all the chicken from both his and Shiro’s bowls and dumps it in the cat’s bowls, their water filled up too. The food is thrown before Lance leaves the dishes to soak. He stores the leftovers in the fridge before he’s making his way back up to Shiro’s bedroom, kicking the door closed and switching off the light.   
He sheds his extra layers, remaining only in his underwear before climbing back onto the bed, into Shiro’s waiting arms. Lance curls into the space, nuzzling the man’s chest. He’s not really tired, but it’s nice to just relax here, rather than being at home where he’s stuck stressing out over whatever homework which remains outstanding. 

“Thank you,” Shiro mumbles, trying to fight sleep as they lay there beside one another.   
“You know I don’t mind,” Lance says back, rolling over to be the little spoon. Shiro adjusts his arm, leaning closer to press soft kisses into the back of his neck. 

“We’re not having sex if that’s what you’re hoping for,” Lance growls when his hand begins to roam between two legs. Shiro whines in the back of his throat but Lance remains gruff. “No, we’re not. You’re sick, so shut up and go to sleep before I change my mind and leave.”   
That stops the wandering hand immediately, Shiro bringing it up to curl his arm tighter around Lance, hand gripping those that lay over his. Lance sighs, lifting his hand to kiss the back of it. “I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right up until you fall asleep.”   
“I wish you’d stay until morning,” Shiro sighs. 

Lance agrees but says nothing, closing his eyes, wondering if he’ll end up falling asleep first.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro is the first to fall asleep, yet Lance continues to stay. He just lies in the darkness, listening to the man breathe, trying to take solace in the calm, serenity of two bodies and warmth that means more than a fading fever. 

Lance isn’t tired and as he remains with open eyes and an arm laid over him, pulling him into Shiro’s side. His mind begins to wander.   
At first it lingers on his assignments and the countdown until break, in which he’ll be going home to see his family. He misses them; Mama especially. He wants to see Jeremy and Milo, his little brothers, and his little sisters; Ariesa, Esmeralda and Isabel.   
He wants to see Maya, but she’s in Australia and will have to wait until Summer before she comes to the states. 

His mind travels to Luis and Donnie, then to Keith and his future plans following a similar path, then back to Shiro, wondering if he’ll eventually approve. 

A car races down the street outside, the noise jolting Lance back to that stormy night where he and Shiro had laid beside one another on the sofa:

 _“Jumpy,”_ Lance laughed as a crack of thunder yanked them from their dosing. _“Fuck you,”_ Shiro hissed, but he was grinning. They’d been at the banter all night, Lance revelling in the domesticity of it all. It gave him confidence and a cockiness that spurred the pair into foraging hands and hot touches that would lead them to the first round of the night.   
But Shiro didn’t push further than kisses, his hands gliding through Lance’s hair, over and over, the massaging fingers lulling him back to the soft calm as he rests on Shiro’s sturdy chest, an arm draped over him as they snuggle beneath the throw. 

It’s perfect.   
It’s so _fucking_ perfect Lance wants to lift his head and ask Shiro if there’s ever a chance of more between them, or if sex friends is all he wants. This moment feels like there’s more, and he wants to ask if he’s not just seeing what he wants.   
He wants to ask, he really does, but it’s his fears that stop him. Fears that Shiro doesn’t want more than this, doesn’t want the strings-attached relationship, and realising that Lance does, won’t want to continue their relationship further before it gets… too _complicated._

But something tells Lance his fears might be wrong, as Shiro continues to stroke his skin, idly so as the television takes back his focus. His finger marks leave goose bump trails, but it’s nice and Lance is drifting to sleep. 

He’s happy, happier than he’s been in a while. Or, more so he’s relaxed and he can just be as Shiro hums along to the theme music. Lance doesn’t need to pay attention as he loses himself in fantasies.   
He imagines they’re on a blue, slightly worn sofa in the living room of their house. It’s theirs. They live together.   
Upstairs sleeping is their daughter, or perhaps their son, or perhaps they are the parents of more than just one child. And a dog, one they saved from the shelter, who goes by the name of Donut. He’s asleep in their bedroom, or perhaps one of their children has opened their door and invited him to kip on the end of their bed instead.   
An open bottle of red wine sits on the coffee table, both merry from their first glass, in no real need to get drunk and dirty; simply happy with the lounging after a long day. 

Lance can feel the weight of his wedding ring on his left hand, matching the similar, but more masculine one that Shiro covets on his own left hand. He never takes it off, just like Lance who keeps his close; his engagement ring taking place just above it. He’s had to get it re-jewelled because the diamond fell out, but now it’s fixed, it’s back to normal, it’s perfect and this moment is perfect and _they, together, are perfect._

Without warning, Lance is torn from his dream as he’s jerked upright, pressure against his body as the thunder roars beyond the window; a ravenous monster that has broken his dream and the perfect moment when everything was as he envisioned. 

_“Woah, that was loud,”_ Shiro laughs, but his voice is tight, like ones would if they were scared. Suddenly, the storm clouds break and the pressure that had been building since the afternoon fades. Shiro, who had been suffering because of it, sighed as he leaned into Lance’s back.   
The boy turned a little, resting a hand on the man’s jaw, holding back from kissing him when he sees the furrowed brow. _“Better?”  
“Yeah, much better,” _ he hums. He plants kisses on Lance’s wrist; the boy left rolling his eyes, wondering why he’s even bothering to hold back and keep this moment all sweet and soft like candyfloss. 

_[Because you don’t want this to be all about the sex]_ comes his inner voice. It sounds suspiciously like Hunk, but then again, most of his inner monologues that make sense, sound like Hunk. 

Lance ignores it, watching Shiro instead. _“Guess I don’t do too well in thunderstorms either.”_  
He looks embarrassed; the cheek that’s flush against his wrist is hot and he’s doing that puppy dog look that makes Lance want to kiss him on the nose and tell him he’s adorable. 

_“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,”_ he says to comfort him, speaking to distract him from the storm outside. _“I’m still scared of hospitals, and I’m not too fond of the dentists either. Even though they’re there to help, I can’t help but be frightened, although, it’s not like I have bad memories of the place.”_

Lance has made a mistake with speaking about hospitals. It brings back the nightmares of running into a busy ER to find Luis bleeding out on a bed, doctors and nurses ignoring him as he pleads with them to save his brother.   
Sometimes its him who lay on the bed, trying to calm his sobbing family that stand on the other side of a glass wall, too far to touch, too far to hear.   
Sometimes it is Donnie, sometimes it is Cassie; Luis’s wife. 

_And sometimes, it’s Shiro.  
Arm missing, legs missing, bleeding from the chasm in his gut, spewing blood as he tries to talk but he can’t, because the bomb shredded his lungs, growing colder and colder as he reaches out, calling for Lance, but he can’t, he’s choking on his own blood—_

_“Lance?”_  
Shiro pulled him back from the precipice of the nightmare, taking his hand, placing little butterfly kisses on the soft skin of his wrist. 

_“Will you tell me?”_ he asks, tilting his head in curiosity but Lance isn’t looking at him. He doesn’t want to tell Shiro he dreams of his death. That he dreams of death, or he fears being helpless, left only to watch the bodies grow cold.   
It’s dark and a little creepy, but Lance can’t tell Shiro the truth, because it will show just how much Lance cares for him.   
He’s not meant to, they’re not lovers or anything; he’s just a glorified booty call that developed feelings like a duckling fresh out its egg. 

_But there’s a chance,_ Hope whispers in his ear. _What if he does want more?_ Perhaps Lance only has to bare a little part of himself to Shiro, to show him that more is in his deck of cards.   
Perhaps the very same card is in Shiro’s deck too. 

_“An eye for an eye?”_ Lance says, his voice thick. He hasn’t really got a question, or maybe he does and it’s the one that’s been clawing at his walls since he started to feel love towards this man that sits beside him.   
He wants to know if he is allowed okay to love him. 

_“An eye for an eye.”_

Lance nods but he can’t quite ask, fear bubbling in his throat. He’s forgotten how to speak, his throat is dry, is he hot? _it’s really hot in here,_ but Shiro is waiting for him to talk, he’s got to ask, _he wants to ask—_

 _“Sorry, I’m pressuring you. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to tell me why,”_ Shiro says. He pulls away. 

_No, no sorry I’m just not ready—  
“But if you want, you can still ask anything you want.” _

Shiro isn’t angry. He understands.  
Lance looks to Shiro then, watching the simple expression of patience and warmth. He’ll understand, he will, and if there is nothing more to this relationship than sex, then Shiro will tell Lance so. But he won’t hold it against him, he’s not like that. He won’t break this off, he’ll make the rules clearer and they’ll continue to see one another. 

But just as Lance makes to speak, another roll of thunder shakes the windows, the lightning snapping with such ferocity that the TV dies, plunging the room into darkness. 

The force, and sudden change jolts through Lance like he’s been electrocuted and he can’t silence the curse before he’s speaking it, jumping from Shiro’s lap, although space between them is the last thing he wants right now. 

_“This storm really has it out for us”_ Shiro laughs, trying to alleviate the growing tension, a hand reaching out for Lance.   
Lance doesn’t notice. He’s having an inner battle with his feelings, fighting fear and love, hope and distress, wishing for things to be easier.   
_Can’t it just be easier?_

 _“Let’s just… let’s just go to bed.”_  
Because that is easy. It’s easy, it’s simple and Lance knows where he stands. He can have Shiro’s body but not his heart, he can keep the warmth but not the love. There is a line and he knows not to cross it, he won’t cross it, _he can’t!_

Lance reaches out for Shiro, searching for him, to pull them into a searing kiss. He needs the sex. He needs to know where he stands. He needs Shiro to carve the rules into his flesh mark him with blood and bind his heart to the inner cavities where it won’t hurt him, it won’t want for more. 

Lance reaches out and so does Shiro. Foreheads collide and Lance apologises, groping the darkness for some sort of stability. But he is too brash, and there is Shiro’s dick pressed to his palm. _“Hello there.”_  
Not his heart, his _dick,_ and that’s what he needs because it’s easy, it’s simple, it makes sense. 

Lance leans in, shifting closer, a hand on Shiro to pull him into the motion. He closes his eyes, hands trailing along the silhouette so that he can find lips while fingers undo the buttons of his collar, a silent question to lead them up, into the bedroom. 

_“Lance.”_

The word stills his fingers, his body trapped in an icy grip.   
_Does he know? Can he feel the desire in Lance’s trembling fingers?_

 _“I… Lance I…”_

And here comes the fall-out.   
Here comes the gentle repel that will end this.   
_End it all…_

_“Go out with me.”_

W-What!   
Lance feels his mouth drop, every cell in his body alight in ecstasy because, this… this is… _this is it, isn’t it._

 _“Wha-what?”_ he laughs, out loud this time, wondering if he heard Shiro correctly. 

_“Go out with me,”_ Shiro repeats and _yes,_ Lance didn’t mishear him, he’s asking to go out, he’s asking to—   
_“We can go out, we don’t always have to stay here,”_ Shiro continues. He’s talking fast, the words coming out quick and a little crazed. _“I don’t just want to spend all my time here. I want to go out with you, to pubs and stuff. We can go for dinner or the movies or your place.”_

_“Lance, go out with me.”_

Oh.   
Lance sits there, frozen, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

_Yes! Yes, a thousand times YES!_ his heart screams, but his head has turned its back, trying to drown out the words that don’t mean anything to Shiro, but the world to Lance.   
_Go out with me._ It’s not to date. It’s not as lovers or boyfriends.   
He’s just getting bored with constantly being at home. 

Is Shiro…. _losing interest?_

Suddenly, Lance feels lips upon his. He doesn’t kiss back, not at first, but Shiro seems worried. Worried that Lance will think too much of the proposal and think it _is_ him asking him out. _Asking him to be his boyfriend._  
But that’s not the case and Shiro’s trying to show that. He’s drawn the line for Lance, he’s showing him what can be and what can’t. 

Sex friends: yes.   
Lovers: _no._

Against his better judgement, Lance kisses Shiro back. This is what he wants, isn’t it. It’s easy, it’s simple, it’s not complicated. But as he accepts the terms and conditions, he can’t ignore the tears that roll down his cheeks as Shiro leans in, kissing him deeper. 

It’s in that moment that Lance hates himself. He hates that Shiro could be so cruel, to offer him everything he’s only wanted only to snatch it back from him before he can even reach out.   
Hating himself for being a coward and not asking for more.   
Hating himself for making this harder by wanting more. 

The tears are silent but ignored as the two touch like sex friends would. Their intimacy is a side effect of a decent fuck, Lance’s emotions are a by-product of spending too much time with Shiro and no one else. He’s the last person Lance has slept with since Summer, the only one in fact.   
That’s why he got attached. _That’s why he feels this way._

The kiss ends, as all things do.   
Just like this relationship. It will someday end and Lance will have to accept that Shiro is not his forever-after. 

_But isn’t now the best time to end it?_  
After Shiro has told him, in less than a few words, that _this,_ this right here is all they’ll ever be. He should give him one last thank-you-fuck and cut ties. It won’t be hard; they don’t have anything in common, and it’s not like Shiro would latch on to his booty call.   
He’s hot, a looker and real sweet. He could have anyone he wanted.   
It’s just, he didn’t want Lance. 

_“Shiro—”  
“We’re… we’re still good, right?” _Shiro says before Lance can tell him _“no more.”_  
He’s holding on. Probably because Lance is easy, probably because their bodies are compatible, but whatever it is, it makes Lance’s heart soar. 

_It makes him sick._

_“Nothing’s changed between us. We’re still…”  
“Still friends,” _Lance finishes for him. He forces a smile and nods, the words more for himself than for Shiro. 

_“Nothing’s changed.”_  
Nothing will change. 

But since that night, some things _had_ changed.   
Lance was more brazen in his promiscuity. If not, he would’ve never dreamed of riling Shiro up in the restaurant or letting him fuck him raw in the car afterwards. He wouldn’t have let Shiro tie him up and treat him like a porn actress that is desperate for the money.   
But he did it to keep Shiro interested. He did it to make sure the man’s eye fell on him, that his hands would want to touch him, that he would want to plunge his dick into Lance’s ass and try and break him in two.   
Lance would act like the whore and the bitch and the slut, if only it kept Shiro looking his way. 

And in moments like these, when Lance lays awake in Shiro’s arms as the man sleeps soundly behind him, he’ll indulge himself in little fantasies to keep his heart happy.   
And when he is sure Shiro is asleep, _deeply asleep,_ only then will he roll to face him, and plant a gentle kiss to his lips and whisper, oh so softly, _“I love you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all this time Lance has misunderstood.  
> He didn’t think they were dating ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡
> 
> (miscommunication is a bitch)


	17. Left To Stew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance goes home after making sure Shiro is settled. He’s absolutely exhausted, his heart and mind are a mess. He’s not really thinking, but that’s just it. He doesn’t want to think. If he does, he’ll just start thinking about Shiro.

**Wednesday 13th November**

Lance scrubs at his eyes again, knowing he can’t hide the redness of puffy eyes. The taxi driver keeps glancing at him in the rear view mirror, but Lance is ignoring the questioning looks sent his way. He had managed to give the man his full address, torn between that and Hunks flat, before completely breaking down in a blubbering, sobbing mess; mopping up his tears with the sleeves of his jumper. 

He doesn’t understand why he can’t stop crying. He started when he left Shiro’s house, and continues even now, as he climbs the steps of the dorms; steady streams of hot tears running tracks down his face. He’s fine, he is, but he just can’t stop crying. It is okay, Shiro still wants him, and he hasn’t ended _whatever-it-is_ that the two shares, so there is no reason to cry, he’s fine—  
But, it’s _because_ Shiro still holds him, although not in the way he wants. He wants to be held, but he wants the love. He wants to be kept close and cuddled while they sleep, but he desires the affection and emotion that lovers share.   
It’s the almost that sees Lance finding it harder to ignore the urges of his heart. 

The apartment is quiet when Lance enters.   
Everyone is asleep. Lance doesn’t want to sleep.   
He’s exhausted and he’s tired, but he doesn’t want to sleep, he just wants…   
_Shiro._ He wants his heart. He wants his love.   
_He wants him._

Lance should’ve turned Shiro down, back when he had the perfect moment to. Or before that, before he had fallen in love with a man of whom is heart Lance could never obtain. Maybe then all of this heartbreak could've been avoided. It’s still not too late.   
But Lance is a coward, and he’s stupid and self-destructive. He’ll allow Shiro to use and abuse his heart without even knowing it’s in his hands, with Lance not raising a finger to defend himself. Nor will he blame the man. He’ll smile, he’ll laugh and he’ll be the boy that Shiro wants, just for those few moments more.   
Fantasies feed his starving heart, but they don’t fix the fraying threads and if Lance had courage, he’d ask the man for more, or find himself another that could love him like he desired. 

Anger boiled then. Beneath the sadness, the hopelessness of it all, anger grew. Anger towards himself to hide the guilt of expecting more; anger because he’s weak and stupid and he’s doing this to himself.   
It was the anger that took over as Lance dumped his shit on the sofa, hooking off his shoes and kicking them in any direction. He wrenched the fridge door open, snatching out leftovers and rammed it into the microwave, slamming the door shut with a bang. He didn’t think for making noise, even when he dumped himself on the sofa with his food, eating quickly as he threw on some police chase programme where he could glare angrily at the dick in the getaway vehicle, hoping it would crash and burn—

_“Lance?”_  
It’s Dale. He’s stood in the doorway to his bedroom looking worried. “Lance, what are you doing? It’s two in the morning.”  
Lance says nothing, everything suddenly washing away and he realises he’s got the TV on really loud and _oh shit, he’s just woken Dale up!_ “Oh, dude I’m sorry.”   
Lance scrambles for the remote, snatching it up and muting the sound of sirens and racial slurs that weren’t really doing anything to help his anger. “I just…. Well I was—”  
“Don’t worry.” Dale shrugged it off, trying to hide a yawn. Then looking at Lance’s hands, “you’re eating my food.”   
Lance looks down, then up, sheepishly. “I… uh…. _Sorry,”_ but Dale is already sitting beside him, snatching the spoon that sits idle in the bowl, helping himself to a mouthful. “S’ fine,” he says. He sorts out the volume of the TV before un-muting it and the two sit beside one another in stuffy silence, sharing a bowl of potato curry meant for tomorrows lunch. 

Dale’s curious, there’s no way he’s not, but Lance can see he’s being respectful; either waiting for Lance to talk to him, or just keep him company for the time being. He’s being obvious about it too; quiet, where usually the programmes would get a running commentary and its own voice over. 

Lance doesn’t really want to talk about it. Sure, Dale knows about Shiro, knows Lance’s true feelings and the fact he wants more, but will talking actually do anything? Talking would, if he was talking to Shiro, but he’s not, he can’t, _he’s a coward with no backbone, afraid that talking will break everything apart..._  
The thought restarts the flow of tears, and once again Lance is sniffing into his sleeves, muttering apologises to Dale because he’s a mess. 

But Dale’s not annoyed, nor is he angry. He just puts a hand around Lance’s shoulder and pulls him close, telling him “its okay, it’s going to be alright.”  
“Is it?” Lance asks with a laugh, but it’s a disbelieving laugh, broken by sobs. Dale hugs him tighter, two arms pulling him close, holding him as Lance’s body shakes, his walls crumbling and he’s bawling behind hands that can’t hold back the tears, the flood of pain that washes over him. 

It’s because that moment was perfect.   
_But it was fake._

Curiosity scratches at Dale’s patience and he can bare it no longer.   
“What happened?” he asks, voice hushed on soft. “Nothing,” Lance mumbles against his chest, eyes closed, trying to focus on anything other than the encroaching headache that comes from crying too much. “Well that’s not true.”   
There’s no pressure from Dale; just comfort and an ear that’s willing to listen, just to alleviate some of the weight.

“Are…. Are you guys… _over?”_

Lance opens his eyes, staring past Dale’s chest to the open bedroom door, yet he see’s Shiro asleep back in his, only a ten minute walk away, but so far out of reach. “We were never anything in the beginning.”  
“I know that. I’m asking if you’re not going to see him anymore.”   
“I’m still his fuck buddy, if that’s what you’re asking,” he spits, voice cracking on the insult. Dale stiffens at the tone, doing well to swallow whatever he had been about to say, instead curling arms tighter. 

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Dale asks. He’s hurt; hurting for Lance who feels so much more pain.   
“Why did you fall in love someone you said won’t love you back?”  
“You can’t control who you fall in love with,” Lance sighs, listening to the words that he has thought a thousand times. Because no, he can’t control his heart’s desires. Because if Lance didn't have these stupid feelings for Shiro, he wouldn't be in this position right now. They’d still be fucking and screwing, and Lance wouldn’t have to come home and cry his eyes out in front of his friend because he can’t control his fucking emotions. 

Lance didn’t know the exact moment he fell in love, but he knew that first morning it would happen if their meetings continued. He hadn’t thought then, just how painful it would be to continue. He’d allowed himself to hope that emotions would follow and Shiro would love him back.   
Even as they danced this dance of bodies not hearts, Lance hoped his own would be able to hold out, that he’d be able to control it, that he’d be able to hide his desires behind a mask of lust. Perhaps if he had hidden it away, even from himself, that things wouldn’t be like this now. And the fallout wouldn’t be painful either.   
Lance fears that, he fears the fallout every day. The break up, the goodbye, the dismissal with a disgusted tone, perhaps embarrassment of tears as Keith witnesses him rush out one morning, never to see him again.   
But that would be so much harder, now Hunk, Pidge and Beezer were all close, and Allura called out to him in the corridors, or the lunchtime in the cafeteria where the friends all gathered, or the fact the café was becoming a refuge to him… 

These feelings aren't going away anytime soon, even if Lance wishes for it. But Dale is here and he’s helping.   
They stay together, until the cold of the apartment starts to get to Dale, still dressed in light lounging clothes. But when he stands, dismissing himself for bed, Lance reaches out and grabs hold, tightly. 

Lance doesn’t want to be alone right now. He’s absolutely exhausted, his heart and mind are a mess, but he knows, the second he is alone, he’ll just start thinking about Shiro. And right now, he doesn’t want to. 

Lance says nothing, but Dale understands. With a soft smile, he helps Lance to his feet, hand holding Lance’s as he leads him into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh Lance, what are you doing? \\(º □ º |||)/


	18. Sinceri - Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With radio silence on Lance’s end and an unexplained absence from Uni, Hunk heads over to the boy’s dorm to check up on him.

**Wednesday 13th December**

[From: Mom Friend – 07:21]  
 _Hey Lance, I know we said we’d meet up and I can check your work, but Shay’s been sick through the night. Some sort of nasty bug is going round, so I’m just doing a food run for her. Meet you @ the library for 8:30?_

[From: Mom Friend – 08:20]  
 _Hey I’m in the library where you at?_

[From: Mom Friend – 08:27]  
 _Lance?_

[From: Mom Friend – 08:43]  
 _Okay so I have literally walked the entire length of the library twice and you’re not here. If you’re late I don’t mind but that means you’re buying Starbucks. Hot chocolate please <3_

[From: Mom Friend – 08:47]  
 _Are you ill too? Because I’ve got a free period after twelve and I can come bring you lunch if you’re laid up in bed._

[From: Mom Friend – 09:02]  
 _Dude Iverson is on a war path. Text me asap!!!_

[From: Mom Friend – 09:04]  
 _Told Iverson you’re sick so go with that story when he asks you next time._

[From: Mom Friend – 10:17]  
 _Dude, you’re never silent, you’re starting to worry me._

[From: Mom Friend – 10:24]  
 _Lance?_

[From: Mom Friend – 11:02]  
 _So I’m just going with the story that you’re ill, but I’m coming to your place at twelve.  
And there’s no use hiding, I can get the Dorm Manager to let me in with his spare key if you don’t open the door. _

[From: Mom Friend – 11:52]  
 _I’m coming now._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hunk stared at his mobile screen again; all his previous messages unread. He hoped Lance was just ill, or perhaps the phone was out of battery and the idiot was recovering from a hangover after going out with Dale and Rolo for the night. Christmas promised cheaper drinks and the boy was always one for the festive mood. _Yeah, that’s what it was._  
Hunk climbs the stairs, trying to stop himself worrying. Lance always tells him not to.  
Everyone does really, which goes to show just how much he does worry for his friends. It’s why they all call him _“mom”_ as a joke, but he’s actually quite proud of that title and the little medal that Lance made him back in school. He’s still got it, hung up on Shay’s necklace tree in their bedroom.

Preferring not to bug the Dorm Management if he doesn’t have to, Hunk heads straight to Lance’s shared room. He knocks on the door, then begins fidgeting with his phone, scrolling through his contacts to check if he has Dale or Rolo’s number. He doesn’t, but he does have Nyma’s: Rolo’s current girlfriend. He’s thinking about ringing her to check on the whereabouts of Rolo and ask if he’s taken Lance out on the town last night, only Hunk doesn’t have to because the door it opening. 

It’s not Lance, it is Dale. “Hey Hunk,” he says politely, unable to keep the confusion from his voice, although frowned eyebrows give him away instantly. “Hey Dale. Lance wasn’t at Uni, I was wondering where he was,” Hunk explains, peering into the apartment to see if he can see Lance on his favourite hangover position: on the sofa watching shitty daytime TV. He can’t see Lance though, so he’s probably still in bed or moping about in his room like a kicked puppy. The boy gets all soppy when he’s ill, so Hunk will probably have to baby him for a bit. He doesn’t really mind. 

“I’ve tried ringing him, and I’ve text him too, although nothing. Have you seen him?”  
“Yeah, he’s still in bed—” _called it,_ “—He’s ill. Must’ve caught the bug that’s been going round, but it’s the idiot fault personally. He came home real late last night so he must’ve got a chill while he was out walking around in the snow.” 

Dale stepped back, away from the door, leaving it open for Hunk to follow him into the flat.   
Hunk does just that, shuffling out of his shoes, leaving them kicked by the door next to his bag. He crosses the living room, heading towards Lance’s room, but Dale stops him just as his hand grabs the door handle. “Ah, he’s not in there,” he says, stood in his doorway, gesturing behind him to his own bedroom. “He’s in here.” 

Hunk pauses mid-step, mind catching like a broken record for a moment, before turning to the other room and following Dale inside. It’s dark inside, with the lights off and blinds down.   
And there, asleep on Dale’s bed, is Lance. Laid under a thin blanket, he’s cuddling his giant stuffed penguin, face buried into the down feathers. He’s only wearing boxers, his hair mussed badly, which says too much, considering Hunk know Lance sleeps like the dead once he’s down. The idiot could lie on a tree branch and not roll off in the night, so it’s not Hunk’s fault as his mind jumps to the why Lance remains in the bed. 

There’s a wet flannel in a bowl on the bedside table, beside that, a bowl of uneaten porridge and half a multi-pack of sports drinks. Dale has been looking after him for the day, which explains his own absence from University. 

“He’s in your bed,” Hunk says bluntly, praying that Lance just ended up here after a drunk night out and what he’s imagining inside in his own head is just that: _his own imaginings._  
Dale raises an eyebrow at the observation, looking between Hunk and the kid that’s passed out his bed, tussled hair, cheeks red from the fever that makes his skin hot to touch. “Yeah. Lance wanted me to keep him company and considering he’s only got a single bed, it would be easier in here than his room.”   
Hunk scowled. “He’s got Shiro for that.” 

There was a moment of silence before Dale jumped like Hunk had stuck him with a needle. “Oh my god Hunk, _we didn’t do it!”_ he yelped painfully loud, eyes wide, arms flailing as he pointed a finger to the boy blissfully aware of Hunk’s accusation. 

“Of course I know he’s got someone he likes already. But last night, Lance was upset, he came back like two in the morning and he said he didn’t want to sleep alone! He’d been crying or something, but he was really angry and I didn’t want to leave him like that. He asked ,e… I didn’t… _I didn’t…._ I would _never_ take advantage of him like that!”   
Dale growled the last words, angry that Hunk could even accuse him of such a thing. 

The boy’s defensive shouting disturbed Lance from his slumber, moaning as the noise pounded his skull. He rolled over with a whimper; pulling the blanket around him more. Hunk looked to him in pity, moving to wipe him down with the flannel and help him cool down.   
Dale grabbed him. “Don’t wake him up. He’s barely been able to sleep with the headache so leave him for a bit. He’s got half an hour till he can take more painkillers so wait till then.” Not one to argue, Hunk stepped back. 

“Can’t believe… you think I’d—” Dale was muttering to himself as he left his room, moving back to the kitchen table where it looked like he had been working on University papers; giving Lance space instead of using his desk. 

Hunk joined him in the communal space. “Sorry Dale, I didn’t mean that. It’s just he’d hate himself—”  
“For sleeping with me? _Thanks,”_ Dale spat bitterly, not lifting his head from his biology study. “ _No_ that’s not what I’m saying. What I meant was that he’s already got someone and Lance would hate himself for _cheating_ on them. Not the idea of doing it with you.” 

Dale paused his pretend reading, frowning as he looked up. “It wouldn’t be cheating. They’re not going out. They’re just sex friends.”   
Which surprised Hunk actually. “What? _Still?_ But when I saw them together, and talking to Pidge and the guys… We were all sure that they’re dating already. They act so lovey-dovey around one another.”  
“Give Lance a glass of wine and he’s lovey-dovey with anyone,” Dale said, his bitterness returning ever so slightly.   
“What makes you say that?”   
Dale shrugged. “He’s like it when we go out. Besides, we drink all the time here, and every time we put on Bambi he’ll cuddle up and cry his eyes out, with or without booze.” 

The boy abandoned his work then, closing the books and grabbing two mugs from the side. He made himself and Hunk coffee, directing them both to sit on the sofa where they could wait before they had to wake Lance up.

“So you know Shiro then. You’ve met him.”   
Dale’s just trying to make conversation. It’s not like he and Hunk have always been the best of friends, more like casual acquaintances who share mutual friends.

Hunk is happy to talk, to stop them lapsing into awkward conversation. “I’ve been to his place, but I wouldn’t say I know him all that well. It’s more like my friends are all of his, but his house is big and can accommodate all of us without having to worry about Dorm Management and such.”  
“Yeah, Lance said he’s not in University but working. Must be a small world if you know his friends.”   
“We’re in the same courses, and they’re close friends to Shiro and his brother. I think they were just being polite when they invited me and Shay round their place, but I’m not complaining,” Hunk says, recalling Sunday night that he spent discussing the Wizarding World in great depth. 

It had been a fun evening, but Hunk’s memory gets stuck on Shiro and Lance, cuddling together on the sofa, the closeness they shared all evening. Not only that, but they had all teased him; Shiro’s friends all talking about how much calmer Shiro was when Lance was around. But then, that didn’t mean too much.   
Even Hunk felt at ease when Lance was with him, but it was different to how he was with Shay. Maybe what Lance said was true, and Shiro didn’t want anything more than the _no-strings-attached_ relationship they had right now.   
Still… 

“Are you sure they’re not dating?” Hunk asks. It seems Dale knows more than he does: Lance probably vented to him last night, so he must have more of an idea of what was going on in the boy’s head.   
But Dale didn’t hear him. He’s looking towards his own room.   
Hunk casts a glance over his shoulder but he can still see the bundle that is Lance on the bed. A look to the clock says only five minutes have passed. 

Hunk’s coffee is already gone and it’s hard sitting here in the silence. “I don’t really need to be here,” he says more to himself than Dale, standing up. He washes his cup in the kitchen – Dale telling him he doesn’t have to leave, but Hunk is quick to quieten him. “I’ve got class in half an hour so I’m heading back to campus. These are photocopied notes for Computer Science, so can you give them to Lance when he’s up?” he says, pulling several papers from his bags before slipping on his shoes.   
Dale nods, taking the notes before seeing Hunk out the dorm, promising to get Lance to call him when he wakes. 

Once again it’s quiet, and Dale can get back to his notes. But looking at his coursework, he can’t help but scowl; not in the mood to force useless shit into his distracted brain.   
He’s not got a reason for it; there’s neither overdue homework nor an end-of-term final coming up; it’s just a task to occupy him while he skips class and looks after Lance who is down with fever. Speaking of Lance, it should be fine for him to take his medicine now. 

The boy is barely able to swallow the pills Dale gives him after waking, and he only manages three sips of water before he’s curling back into the bed, eyes scrunched tight. Dale hates seeing him like that, seeing him so vulnerable.   
“C’mon, move over,” Dale whispers, lying beside Lance, pushing himself under the covers to join the boy that’s quickly falling asleep; hugging the boy that, just like himself, is hurting from unrequited love.


	19. Troubles A'brewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is still yet to make a decision on where he stands with Shiro. For now, he’ll continue as normal, but it’s hard when Shiro acts lover-like, and Keith treats him like a brother. Whatever. Ignore it. Focus on other things.

**Saturday 16th December**

Lance is completely in the zone as he works, not conscious that he’s humming along to whatever his YouTube Mix throws at him, the sound poured straight into his skull through noise-cancelling headphones that help him with his concentration. Or lack of, considering most days the boy struggles to focus on his art pieces longer than the initial line sketch and mapping of colours.   
Yet today, he’s found his zone, he’s past the shading process, the secondary colours of blue shading poured into the robotic limb of his game design character, the lighters colours of bioluminescent fuel liquid smudge across the paper, and the skin of his right hand as he leans further into the work, breathing life into his designs. 

Lance has found the zone and he’s getting work done; so it’s a surprise to say the least when the headphones are yanked back, a loud voice yelling _“Boo!”_ which scares the living daylights out of him. Lance is off the chair, on the floor looking up at a cackling Keith who’s bent in half, clutching his stomach. “Ah man, I got you good,” he grins, offering a hand to help Lance off the floor.   
Lance just hits him, getting up by himself before picking up the stray sketches that fluttered to the floor when he fell from his chair.   
He’s in Keith’s and Shiro’s apartment; where he’s spent practically every Saturday since meeting Shiro. But it’s just Keith and Lance here; Shiro’s gone to the hospital for a check-up before the Christmas Break, when it will be more difficult to be seen by Doctors. 

Lance still hasn’t come to a decision if he’s going to ask Shiro out, or end this relationship before he befalls anymore heartbreak. It’s hard to say no to Shiro, when he’s almost getting what he wants, harder still when he’s in the moment and he loses himself to it. Continuing is selfish against his own heart, but his body has needs and… _yeah._  
No amount of excuse will justify the pain he’s putting himself through, but he just doesn’t want to let go yet. _Not just yet…_

“Hey I didn’t know you drew,” comes Keith’s voice. Lance looks up to see the boy leant over the table, skimming through his art book, fingers on the oil pastel smudges of purple, a wash with black charcoal.   
It’s an upper body portrait, animated and steam-punked with the addition of bionic eyes and motherboard-style tattoos curving up from the neck. Anyone with eye could tell it was meant to be Shiro.  
“But I thought you were taking Computer Science. Or, no wait, it’s Robotics with Pidge.”   
“No that’s Hunk,” Lance says, cheeks aflame from where Keith has caught his obsession with the boy’s older brother. “But yeah, computer science is my subject, along with art and maths. I was planning to go into video game stuff.” He’s mumbled the last couple of words, hoping Keith will pick up on the clue he’s not really wanting to discuss it. But Keith, never one for hints or subtly, lets out a broken noise. “Game design? Like the logistics—”  
“No, the art side,” Lance corrected. “Basically what you do as a hobby, I want a full career out of it.” 

To Lance’s surprise, Keith was very supporting. He had expected him to laugh and joke, although he wasn’t sure why; he himself had been very understanding of Keith’s wish to enrol, so perhaps Keith was keeping that in mind as he half dragged, half lead Lance into his study, booting up his computer system with the full, four screen, surround sound set up that he gets lost in when he needs to relax after stressful clients and the crappy hullabaloo of daily life.   
The walls are plastered in poster-style printouts of Keith’s designs as well as signed celebrity copies of film movies he’s worked on, game releases, framed screen-plays with director notes.   
He’s a classic hoarder, if the shelves were anything to go by; pop vinyl figures, props from a thousand movies, knick knacks he’s collected when he’s travelled for work. There’s a sofa bed shoved in one corner, the covers an array of dirty clothes and thin blankets from where working nights as exhausted him enough he’s collapsed in the corner; not enough energy to drag himself up to his room, where Lance is expecting to find the same chaotic nest of _things._

Keith’s achieved everything he’s ever wanted to, and sure the boy’s allowed to feel a little jealous. But then, he’s still going through his education. Keith dropped out and jumped straight into the working world, using Shiro’s connections to get himself a lucky break. And connections are half of what makes up a good break.

Lance isn’t feeling jealous for long, but he’s close to feeling that when Keith throws him and Xbox controller and starts booting up his game system and the Beta test of _“Voltron: Legendary Defender.”_

“Holy shit! How’d you get hold of this? Beta testing for the Voltron franchise is limited at best. They never made the beta downloadable, even for gamers with premium gold.” Keith just slapped on a smug little grin, finding a new save slot before poking his finger in the corner of the screen whilst the opening montage began playing. And there, on the screen:

CREATIVE DIRECTORS _Antok Sakaala and Keith Kogane_

“Okay, I’m officially jealous,” Lance said with a pout, although it was all in jest as he threw himself back into one of the two chairs, settling in as a giant comet broke free through Earth’s atmosphere. “So what was your role? Character design? Background Art?”  
“It was more like overseeing everyone, although I did spend a little bit of time on Character Design, and working with the Technical Artists. Antok took over the advertising side and then we came together at the end to finalise it all with Kolivan.”

Keith went on, explaining the job in detail, as well as dropping hints to Lance about other projects him and the videogame company; _Marmora_ were working towards.  
“They’ve got an open day next year. I think its July time, in their Californian Branch. If you’re interested then you should tag along. I can get you in to all the workshops if you want. It’s what Kolivan did for me, although, it was more like, he did it for me because he couldn’t do anything for Shiro.”  
Lance paused the game, looking over to Keith. “He owed Shiro?”   
“Yeah, but like… indirectly. You see, Kolivan is Thace’s on-off partner. They’ve been engaged twice, but both love their work so their relationship gets a bit rough when they make excuses for work, meaning they split up now and again.”   
“Thace, Thace,” Lance murmured, trying the name on his tongue. “I’ve heard that before. Wait, isn’t he the guy who owns Casanova over in town.” Keith nodded. “The very same. Thace and Shiro were in the same squad in the Army. They all got real close for the two year deployment. And when the bomb went off, Shiro and Kuro were the ones to save all their lives. Thace came back early because of side effects during recovery, but he was just the walking wounded. He’s got a nice scar on his torso, but other than that he was good. Kolivan was thankful for Shiro saving his life, but he couldn’t do anything for him, so he helped me out as a sort-of favour. Shiro was grateful enough, and Kolivan is happy enough for me to help him.” 

Keith didn’t realise Lance wasn’t quite listening as he rambled on, the Cuban’s brain stuck somewhere back on the familiar word. 

_Kuro._  
So he was linked to a bad memory. And that’s why Shiro’s reaction was the way it was. 

“I’d say this is more of a job than a hobby,” Lance says numbly, trying to pull the conversation back away from Shiro’s war stories. It’s not that he’s not interested, but that’s personal and Lance doesn’t want to tangle himself up in Shiro’s life too much. It’ll be harder to cut ties when the time comes.   
“Maybe,” Keith says with a shrug. “I do get paid, but it’s more like freelancing and conversing with everyone through email and video calls. I’d say architecture is more of my actual job because of the payout and I spend a lot more of my time on that, but only because the customers are finicky and shit.” 

Lance admires the game play as he smashes through the first level, and the second. There are a lot of wise cracks about the art style, easily identifiable as Keith’s, as the main enemy; some alien called Zarkon makes his debut with a cut scene. It’s gruesome in its own right, with plenty of blood even thought the suggested age play is 13+ and Lance is completely sucked into the epic space battle to protect Earth, yelling as his character gets targeted by a squadron of enemy fighter jets.   
“Evade, evade!” Keith’s yelling at him, as if Lance hadn’t already been trying. They’re playing together now; Lance’s character in the pilot seat, Keith in the gunner seat. The team leader’s voice crackles through the speaker and Lance is distracted by the subtitles for a moment, allowing the back engine to take half-damage from a few well aimed shots from those on his six.   
_[“Green scanned the ship,”_ Black was saying. _“There’s a grav-point on the underside of the main fleet ship. Blue, land if you can, and we’ll sneak aboard and plant the bomb.”]_  
“So how is this meant to work on single player?” Lance asks, watching Keith’s character; Red, duck out of the gunner seat and run to the air lock. “There’s a shuffle menu. If you press select, _no, that’s start,_ press select. That’s it. Now it brings up the shuffle menus and you can use the right bumper to choose who to swap to. I’m Red but I can change to Green, because they’ve got cloaking abilities and that’s good for sneak missions.”   
“So each Paladin has a special ability,” Lance says, choosing Red now that Keith had swapped to Black. “That’s right, you’re catching on. They’ve also got their own weapons, and functions when you choose who controls Voltron later on in the game.” 

It’s hard sneaking onto the mother ship. Keith explains you can fight through the sentries or try and avoid them by watching their walk patterns. Lance tried sneaking, but he kept getting fooled by the fake starts, or forgetting to count the number of sentries and get caught by the last one. “This part is a little buggy,” Keith says as he gets himself lodged into a wall, mid-manoeuvre over crates.   
It takes the boys another thirty minutes of re-trying to get to the central command, although both decide they’re going to blame the bugs rather than the fact they’re not too good at being sneaky. They’re both shouting with one another, getting too into the game as the bomb is set and it turns into a ridiculous run-sequence where all they can see is the explosions behind them, and nothing in front where crates and sentries are placed to get in their way. 

Keith gets caught behind debris as explosions shake the screen. “Run!” Lance laughs, voice loud as he tears his eyes from his own character to where they Black is struggling to vault the obstacle. Big mistake. Because he gets caught just after it.   
Now they’re both yelling at one another, fingers mashing the controllers because the explosions are getting louder, the fire’s getting closer, they can’t move, _“help me Keith I’m stuck—”_

Suddenly the door swings open, scaring both boys. Lance cries out, jumping from his chair as he’s faced with a wide-eyed, panicked Shiro. He looks terrified, and Lance can’t think because he doesn’t understand why, flinching when Shiro grabs hold of his arm. The controller is dropped, kicked, but Lance doesn’t think about that because Shiro’s grip is tight on his arm and _“Ow, Shiro you’re hurting me.”_

Lance freaks, thinking he’s done something wrong, but then Shiro is yelling. “Kuro! Kuro I’m here!”   
He’s not listening. He can’t even see Lance. 

And Lance, confused, still stuck in the man’s grip, cries out when the metal hand wraps painfully tight around his wrist, tighter still as Shiro shouts over the noise of the game. “Kuro, stay with me!”   
Keith’s beside Shiro now, talking in a soft voice, trying to call his name, but he can’t seem to break through whatever holds Shiro’s mind.   
The game is still playing on Keith’s game system; the mother ship blowing up with wondrous, high-quality sound effects that drag Shiro lower and lower into the belly of the monster that has stolen his mind. 

“Shiro you’re hurting me!” Lance says, twisting his body to pull himself away, but he can’t, he’s tripping on something and suddenly he’s falling. Or half-falling. Shiro still has hold of his wrist and now it’s twisted in his grip, _it hurts,_ keeping his back off the floor, but it’s an awkward position that hurts his back and his arm, his shoulder that’s pulled up and pulled again as Shiro tries to drag Lance to his feet. “Kuro get up, Kuro come on!” 

“Shiro, you’re safe, you’re home!”   
Lance can hear Keith calling, raising his voice, but the words can’t break the wall that keeps them out. The wall that Shiro has erected to keep himself safe, blocking out reality as his mind falls prey to horrific memories and a fear he is forced to relive.   
Lance tries to focus on Keith’s voice, telling him to grab the remote. He wants Lance to turn the game off, and that would be easy if he could pull his grip from Shiro’s grasp. But looking up, Keith can’t move either. Shiro’s fisted his hand in the boy’s collar, holding him up, pinning him to the position of struggling, calling out to a brother who isn’t here; he’s a million miles away, trapped in that god-forsaken building that’s on fire, the roof collapsing, the sound of gun fire lighting up the air. 

_“Kaiden, Kaiden just go. Get Thace and go!”  
“No Shiro, you can’t go down there. Kuro is already dead!” _ Kaiden has hold of his arm, trying to pull him back towards the intact wall that would act as cover for their escape. It’s hard to see, there’s so much dust as bullets fly through the concrete block. They’re trying to carve away the support beams with gunfire alone. And the sheer amount that is raining down on them will do it, Shiro has no doubt.   
His heart is racing, he can’t breathe but that might be because he’s just been shot. They walked right into the ambush. They walked right into the bloody ambush and they didn’t even realise until it was too late! 

_“He’s not dead, he’s gone back for the Lieutenant. He’s still inside.”  
“Shiro, they’re dead!” _ Kaiden yells, trying to tighten his grip on the man who is desperate to race down the flight of stairs towards the basement. _“You can’t follow them Shiro, if the building collapses, you’ll be buried alive.”  
“Kuro and the Lieutenant are down there! I have to get them out!” _ Shiro yells, shoving Kaiden backwards, the younger boys grip breaking. _“Get Elliott and get out, take the East Stairs back to the entry point. We’ll rendezvous at the river.”_ Kaiden shook his head, opening his mouth to argue, but Shiro didn’t have time for this. _“That’s an order! Now get moving.”_  
Shiro only gives himself a second to see Kaiden rush over to Thace who was laying cover fire out of the broken window from their position on the second floor. Elliott is beside him, trying to un-jam his weapon but he’s panicking.   
The building is surrounded, but of course it’s fucking surrounded, this is a god damn ambush and _of course_ the intelligence was corrupt but _of course_ they had to follow it anyway. 

Shiro cursed as he jumped down the remaining stairs to the bottom floor, hand on the twisted and warped railing of the stairwell, letting it help him lower himself through the hole in the floor from where the enemy had turned the building into a fucking prison. The stench of dead bodies is vile, some of them already burning, the smoke suffocating Shiro as he forced a hand of his mouth and ignored the sound beneath his feet, forging towards the rusting metal grates. He didn’t have to force it open, already following the path of Kuro and Lt Holt who were down here, searching for their target.   
But he wasn’t here. It was obvious this was just a setup for the ambush and the kid they were supposed to extract wasn’t here, this was a failed mission and _they were all going to die—_

_“KURO! KURO WHERE ARE YOU?”_ Shiro yelled, barrelling forth towards the rectangle of light, flinching as the sound of machine fire outside the walls. He thinks he can hear someone screaming, but _no you can’t focus on that, find Kuro, find Sam and get out._   
A missile flies overheard and Shiro drops to the floor on reflex. A hand stifles his own mouth at the sound of voices, and suddenly there is torchlight coming through from the end of the corridor. But it’s not English they’re speaking and Shiro has only a few seconds to roll into a crevice that will take him out of the path of his enemy. 

_Fuck, fuck fuck FUCK!_  
They’re walking away towards him, their words light and happy as if the shits are laughing at him. They probably are.   
There are a thousand militants outside and Shiro is in the building with a squad of eight.   
Six, he corrects himself darkly. _Thomas and Wyatt didn’t make it._

The enemies torchlight flashes near Shiro’s hiding spot and he feels his heart beat fast in his chest. It’s dark down here; a benefit for himself after his attackers took out the generator. But they’ve blinded themselves with the same attack and it’s a point for Shiro as the torchlight passes over him and continues onwards. He can hear their footsteps, even as his eyes remain closed and he counts. 

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

Another missile flies overhead and the torchlight are instinctively shone upwards to light the ceiling. It’s a chance and Shiro takes it, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip as his firearm goes off. _Pop pop pop,_ and two dead bodies. There’s no remorse for them, no kindness either as he snatches up their AK-47, one flashlight and some smoke grenades. The bodies are dumped on the pile of innocents back in the previous room; the most Shiro can provide as camouflage before he sets off through the basement, stopping himself from calling out. 

Fear has his breathing tight and he’s not sure if the footsteps are in his head or if they’re just in his head and he’s freaking out.   
Who’s he kidding, _of course he’s freaking out._

More voices.   
Shiro freezes. He doesn’t move, he’s in the middle of the corridor, it’s not his suppressed automatic he’s got to hand it’s an enemy AK-47 that he’s lifting, there’s no silencer. 

The three enemy soldiers go down in a spray of bullets but they don’t die before the radios are lit up. Their comrades listen to the sounds of them choking on their own blood but Shiro isn’t going to waste a mercy bullet on any of them. Thomas and Wyatt didn’t get a mercy bullet, why should they? 

Shiro doesn’t linger. He doesn’t waste time with hiding the bodies, not when he hears another missile and the gunshots getting louder. Thoughts are sent to Kaiden, Thace and Elliott but they should be out. It’s not long before there are footsteps and Shiro get’s full view of his next target, gun out, torch limiting his vision. Shiro takes him out quickly, his tactical knife firmly planted into the gut. The terrorists have no body armour and the knife is in, _deep,_ twisting until the man’s unconscious from the pain. He’ll bleed out before he wakes. 

The underground basement is like a maze, and there’s no end. But then, there is and it’s a wall, but there’s a hole in it and so much more darkness on the other side.   
Shiro is quick to realise that the information wasn’t corrupt, but incomplete. The target was here, but then, so was a major base of operation for the terrorist group that were in control in his area. _Double fuck._  
He drops into the labyrinth of support pillars, listening to the endless drip of water that echo with his footsteps. He hears more, but Shiro can feel the clock ticking away and he’s still yet to find Kuro and Sam. He’s going and they’re going to die before he bows first. 

The enemy remain at the far end of the corridor. They’re calling out to him, expecting him to be a teammate. _“Hu 'anak Arash?”_  
Shiro answers with two bullets, one for each before moving on. Two more to the left, one down the corridor on his right. There are lights in these corridors but that can be rectified with a couple of shells in the main generator, if he can find it. Instead it’s C4. Tonnes of the shit, enough to take down a small country.   
But Shiro can take down the organisation if everything goes well, so he steals their C4 and packs it near the pipeline that runs adjacent to the electrics. It’s not wired up, that would take time and right now he’s not meant to be focusing on single handily taking down the terrorist group, he’s meant to be locating Sam and Kuro, recovering their target and _getting the fuck out of here._

The building shakes from a blast and Shiro speeds up his steps. Suddenly there is gunfire all around him and he can’t see, can’t hear anything other the sound of his own voice yelling, his own gun popping holes in the enemy that has him pinned down in the back of a fucking dead end corridor. _“KURO! SAM!”_ He can’t help it, he’s desperate.   
_“KURO where the fuck are you?”_

Yelling. Screaming. 

“Shiro, Shiro!” 

Is that Kuro? It doesn’t sound like him. It’s not Sam either.   
“Shiro, Shiro it’s me, I’m here.”   
_“Kuro?”_  
“Shiro, it’s Keith, come on, calm down.” 

_Keith? Why is Keith here?  
He’s meant to be at home, he’s meant to be safe, he’s not—_

“Shiro. You’re at home, you’re safe.” 

He blinks. Blinks again.   
The dark corridors melt away to the light of day, bright through Keith’s window. The blind is up, sunshine pouring into the familiar room of his little brother’s study. The TV remains paused on a game. It’s what set him off. It was that that he heard as he ran up the stairs, eager to see Lance after a hard morning at the hospital.   
Only, he heard the boy yelling. Bombs, gunfire, _the monster of war that he had abandoned overseas_ and he had panicked. 

Lance was in danger and Shiro had reacted. Instinctually.   
And it had sent him down the rabbit hole for one hell of a trip. 

“Shiro?”   
“’m good,” he muttered, exhaustion pulling him back to the sofa. Keith’s managed to get him against it, not on it, no he’s too heavy for Keith to have lifted him. He’s handing him a drink and Shiro knows better than to fight Keith about drinking it, so the thing is downed and passed back, even though Shiro now feels like he’s going to hurl. He’s sweating, he feels sick and he just wants to sleep. 

Keith’s not giving him a lecture he realises, looking up to his baby brother glaring angrily at the game station. “Keith?”  
Keith looks to him, a shameful apology passed with a flushed face. “I didn’t think. Of course you’d be sensitive; you’ve just spent four hours at the hospital.” Shiro says nothing. He could say it’s not true, but it is, and although he feels guilty he’s the one that has had a complete meltdown, he’s not going to apologise for something he can’t control. Besides, doing so would just get Keith to go off on another rant about _not apologising._

Yet Keith is quiet once more, no longer looking at the game station, but to the door. “You good now?” Shiro nods, not quite up for talking. His mouth feels like its full of sand although he’s just downed a pint of tasteless water and he still wants to spew. _Yeah, it’s not a good idea to open his mouth right about now._

“Do you want me to talk to him, or are you going to?”   
“Hmm?” Shiro doesn’t get it. Keith gives him a look of sympathy before sighing heavily. “Lance. Are you going to talk to him, or do you want me to go check on him. Your boyfriend got a pretty good scare.” 

_Ah fuck._

_Lance._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lance was stood in the kitchen when Shiro found him, by the sink, body propped up on one arm as he leant against the counter top. His headspace is somewhere completely different; Shiro could see just by watching him from behind. He admired the view; Lance aglow in the early afternoon light, his beautiful caramel locks shining, bronze skin more expensive than gold as he stands in a stolen shirt and loose shorts that Shiro could easily pull off him and have his way with the boy.  
But there was tension in his shoulders, stress in the curves of his body that made Shiro want nothing more than to run his fingers over it all, working out the stress of fear brought upon by his own demons.

“Lance?” He called out softly, like one would for a frightened creature.   
Still, Shiro wasn’t expecting Lance’s violent reaction. He spun around, _fast,_ two hands clamping down on the countertop to steady himself as he caught Shiro in a stare of wide-eyed fear. A moment, and then another before something akin to recognition flashed behind his eyes and Lance visibly relaxed. “Shiro, I’m sorry,” he said, as if it was his fault. But Shiro is shaking his head and he’s closed the distance. 

Lance falls quickly into his arms, tucking himself in against the man’s broad chest, never before feeling so small, so frail, _so fragile._  
“Did I scare you?” Shiro asks, soft and gentle and scared. Shiro shouldn’t[‘t be scared; not anymore, he’s here, safe at home, a thousand miles away from the War that followed him back. It was a demon that found a soul in a time of weakness and latched on with a vengeance. But now it was hurting others, not just the soldier himself. 

Lance hasn’t said anything in response. Instead he’s curled up tighter, _smaller._ It doesn’t take much for Shiro to lift him, heart hurting at the forcefully repressed whimper of shock, before Lance’s hands curl around his neck and the boy’s face is pressed into the crook he’s found solace in a thousand times. 

Shiro wants to take him upstairs, to lay him in their bed and just relax together; to heal the demon’s scars together.   
But alone is a bad idea right now. If Shiro lapses back into another ‘episode,’ Lance wouldn’t know how to pull Shiro out of it, and he would just end up scaring the boy more.   
So Shiro settles them both on the sofa, adjusting Lance in his arms. He doesn’t let go of his grip around Shiro’s neck, but Shiro doesn’t mind. He’s only half aware of Keith in his study, but then music is playing and he’s closing his eyes, soaking up the scent of Lance here with him.

He apologises, of course he does, because he’s scared Lance. The apologies are soft and quiet, reassuring Lance, the words seeping into his muscle, his warm skin and uncertain hands that finally relinquish their grip and Shiro can pull back enough to get the full view of Lance’s face.   
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”   
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”   
“Neither yours.”   
Lance lets Shiro kiss him, leaning into the touch, a hand reaching up to cup Shiro’s chin and hold him there. Lance searches for something in the man’s gaze, but finding nothing, finishes with another kiss.   
He’s holding himself awkwardly. Shiro notices. 

“Are… you okay? I didn’t… _hurt_ you, did I?” Shiro hurt Keith once. Not deliberately.   
They were out late one night and fireworks lit up the sky. Shiro freaked. When he came out of it, he was in hospital, Keith with a nasty gash on his face that healed up quickly, although the scar is still there if you catch it in the right light. 

Again, Lance hasn’t answered him.   
“Lance?”  
“Not really,” Lance says before Shiro can drop his voice into the warning tone that will make Lance submit to him. “It’s just, you were yelling for K— for someone and you grabbed my wrist.” He brings it up, and Shiro can see the red markings where his grip had been too tight. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, kissing the marks he left, wishing he hadn’t.   
“It wasn’t you,” Lance says, because he doesn’t think it was.   
But it was Shiro. One still fighting a war he can never win.


	20. Give Baby Some Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Shiro’s PTSD episode, things are going perfect for him and Lance. That’s what Shiro thinks anyway. But when they get back in the sack, Shiro realises he’s been a bit naive.

**Saturday 16th December**

They’re in bed again. Always in bed, always somewhere between cuddling and fucking. But while he lays there, heads pooled on Shiro’s chest, Lance is lost to thoughts again. He should probably sleep; he’s been exhausted all day, ever since Shiro… since he fell into his memories.   
Just _listening_ to his desperate strangled cries was enough to scare Lance as he was shoved from the room by Keith. He had iced his wrist, tried to block out the sounds of Shiro and Keith fighting one another and the sheer panic in Shiro’s voice, trying to forget how similar to Luis when his brother had woken with nightmares. 

Lance didn’t want to sleep. He feared doing so would bare him to his own nightmares; nothing as horrific as what Shiro has to go through, but it still frightens him. He’s keeping himself awake, he knows, and he knows it’s stupid, but for some reason he can’t shake the fear. 

Being close to Shiro, cuddling him like this is full of conflicts. Warmth in his body that feels eternally cold. Love in his heart that feels eternally empty. Wanting this and hating himself for wanting this, for _having this_ yet overjoyed he’s being blessed at these small moments.

A noise jolts him but it’s only footsteps outside the door; Keith on a hunt for a late night snack. Perhaps five minutes later Lance hears him again and the sound of his door closing loudly.   
Shiro shifts in his sleep, the rise and fall of his chest just as comforting as words he’d lull in his sleepy-state of drifting in and out of unconsciousness. Lance rolls over; nuzzling his face into the crook of the man’s neck, inhaling the comforting scent of cat and his own shampoo Shiro has become accustomed to using. 

“Lance?”   
Lance has woken him, Shiro’s voice still that gravelly, not-quite-awake tone that sends sparks down Lance’s spine. “Yes?”  
“Are you awake?”   
Lance suppresses a snort. “No, I’m fast asleep.” The both laugh quietly, Shiro’s arm coming up to trail touches down the boy’s back. The motion drags off the duvet blanket and Lance shudders in the cool air, body curing around the furnace that is his bed partner. “Sorry,” Shiro lulls, pulling the cover back up, hand in the boy’s hair instead. 

“Can’t sleep?”  
“I’m not really tired.” Because Lance isn’t. Sleep pulls at him half-heartedly, the heaviness of eyelids non-existent although he should be sleeping. He’s not aware of the time, but the silence outside deems it the early hours of the morning. The lack of sunrise meaning _very_ early. 

“I can help with that,” Shiro said. Lance barely has a chance to flirt out an _“oh”_ before his lips are claimed in a quick kiss. Both wrists are quickly claimed in one hand as Shiro climbs on top of Lance, pinning him between knees, his cock, clothed in tight plain black underwear pushed against Lance’s groin.   
Lance moans into the kiss, rising his chest up, awaiting the usual caress of nipples and massaging, but it never comes. He cocks open an eye, smirking at the sight on the one armed Shiro glaring irritably at the prosthetic on the bedside cabinet. It’s not something to laugh about, but Lance can’t help but giggle.   
Shiro’s glare turns his way but it’s melting the second Lance catches his lips again, pulling back a millimetre to whisper, _“let me do it.”_

Shiro relinquishes Lance’s wrists, hands finding the man’s shoulders as he throws his weight into the motion of flipping the pair. Now Shiro is on the bed and Lance is pinning him, doing the work of rubbing growing erections against one another, preening to the familiar touch of flesh fingers working into his hips. “Daddy touch me,” he whispers, determined to lose himself in the moment, like Shiro loses himself in his memories.   
The thought sends a guilty shard through Lance’s body, hesitation freezing his hands for a moment. Shiro’s touch softens, but then Lance is Lance once more and he grabs Shiro’s fingers to guide them to more sensitive skin, his other working the second nipple in a wanton display to get Shiro’s dick up. 

It doesn’t take long, but then the next task is de-clothing the man as he lays there, content to watch Lance work for it. He’s naked himself now, wet, leaking and hot despite the cool air of the room.   
When Shiro’s fingers first enter Lance’s unprepared hole, he gasps out a yell, hands quick to cover panting mouth. “Let me here it,” Shiro growl’s territorially, but Lance shakes his head, hands still tight over the lusty moans Shiro pulls from him as he pushes in deeper. “Kei— _Keith is here,”_ he whispers.   
It’s not the first time they’ve fucked with Shiro’s younger brother next door, but for some reason Lance has decided to remember Keith might still be awake and he doesn’t want to be heard being fucked. Keith’s already caught them – _so embarrassing Lance could’ve died_ – but he’ll do what he can to avoid _that_ again. 

Shiro growls again, grabbing Lance’s wrists and pulling him closer. “Let me hear it,” he says, tone almost demanding; reminiscent of a solider giving orders. Another shiver wracks his body. 

Shiro is definitely aware of it this time, but before he can think to say anything, Lance yanks his wrists from Shiro’s grip. One supports his body, the other with Shiro’s fingers snaking back to his entrance to entice him to continue.   
A shift in weight allows him to stretch to the drawer on Shiro’s side, hand in, grabbing the strawberry lube and two condoms as a sign to say he doesn’t want to have a shower in the middle of the night. It’s not like he minds Shiro coming inside him, it’s just…. 

Shiro takes one condom, teeth tearing the wrapper before he expertly positions the bubble over Lance’s dick instead of his own. With his hand he drags it down, the rubber trapping Lance’s pre-come and his cock in a loose-ish sleeve. There’s no denying Shiro is bigger than him; even the condom size is different, but right now he’s not thinking of that because his lube fingers are inside him, Shiro’s hand stroking him into a full erection whilst the man’s remains laid against his stomach – not quite there yet.   
It doesn’t matter, he soon will be and he’ll be inside Lance, fucking his brains out into blissful oblivion the two of them so desperately need. 

Shiro’s fingers replace Lance’s, scissoring to stretch out the tight skin, moaning as Lance strokes on a condom for him, taking both dicks in his hand, rubbing up and down, teasing, playing. Breaths are hot together, Lances left arm trembling where he can no longer support himself, bowing over Shiro to moan sweetly against his glistening chest.   
Something in his conscious keeps catching; unable to completely lose himself in the moment. He’s aware of Shiro’s fingers, his own hiss of pain from a hurried application of third. No, _fourth._

“C’mon baby, I know you want Daddy’s cock.”   
Lance moans weakly, not sure what he should say. But he’s pushing himself up, legs lifting him so that his slick, dripping entrance is now poised over Shiro’s cock. Dry, he thinks weakly, watching Shiro reach for the bottle of lube. But Lance has an idea, a sort of desperation for that cloud-like feeling he once experienced.   
Knowingly, _deliberately,_ Lance swallowed Shiro right to the hilt, voice breaking in a cry as Shiro’s thick rod reached in further than his fingers. His whole body burned, knees, legs shaking to the sound of Shiro’s worried voice. 

“Wow,” Lance laughed, because laughing beat whimpering, and he’s looking down at Shiro who wears the same worrying expression he had this afternoon. _No, no we’re meant to be forgetting about it. He’s meant to be fucking us into oblivion._  
“Lance what—”  
“Daddy fuck me,” Lance preens desperately, one hand fisting across Shiro’s chest as he rose on unsteady legs, body dropping again, Shiro’s cock, _if possible,_ reaching in even further. The heat carved through the pain and Lance pulled pleasure from the numbing of his brain. “Harder,” he panted, no longer caring for the younger brother who could definitely hear him, considering how loud he was being. “More Shiro more! Fuck me, break me,” he begged, eyes closed, lost to the thrusting of the man’s hips, his own legs shaking and breaking, muscles screaming in resistance. 

“Baby you’re… _tight,”_ Shiro groaned, forcing himself to sit up, his one hand pulling Lance closer, yet offering no resistance to the pumping on his legs that forced himself in and up, _again and again._ Lance cried, yelled, moaned with every brush up, every slow drag out, every little nip that left bruises, hickies and bite marks over his chest.   
His back found the bed, Shiro holding one leg in the air to reposition himself and he’s slamming his cock inside Lance. His insides are full but feel empty, regretting putting the condom on his lover—

“Daddy, daddy more, harder, harder!” he yells, hands in his own hair, pulling on the fringe, the strands he can get at to make himself feel it, feel more, _drive himself over the edge and deep to oblivion that he’ll never come back._

_“Break me.”_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They’re in bed. Always in bed, always somewhere between cuddling and fucking.

They’ve finished fucking, Shiro half heartedly cleaning up the slight mess they made but Lance pushes away the hand that brings a wet cloth towards his spent ass, all bruised, bleeding and come-filled. “Not now,” he tells him as his head pools on a pillow that smells a lot like Shiro. “You’re bleeding,” Shiro tells him as if that’s enough reason for Lance to give up and let the man do what he wants.   
Lance does not. “And I’m finally tired, so let me sleep,” he says, hand still flapping about behind him, swatting Shiro’s hand like a fly. 

Shiro gets the message and withdraws. It’s not long before he’s sliding back into the bed, pulling up the blankets, mothering Lance with the way he tucks him in. Lance lets him; desperate to cling onto the weightless he had a taste of at the end of their sex-capade, only moving to once again lay his head on the man’s chest feeling the arm circle around and hug him close.

“You okay?”  
“Hmm?”  
“It doesn’t hurt too much does it?” Shiro asks, obviously still caught on the fact he had made Lance bleed. It stings now, but it’s a distraction that Lance will accept. He knows the pain will be gone by morning, although perhaps not Shiro’s guilt. This time he doubles his effort of filling his voice with nonchalance. “Honestly I’m fine. I asked you to fuck me and you did. I’m happy.”   
He’s aware of Shiro looking at him sceptically, so spits out his tongue. “I’m being serious.”   
“You were being different.”  
“Good different?”   
“Different… _different.”_ Lance didn’t bother raising his eyebrows, nuzzling into Shiro’s neck with a sigh. 

The soft quiet of night filled the room once more, but Shiro remained restless. 

“This… I mean, what we just did. It’s different. You’ve never wanted me to hurt you properly like this.” Lance says nothing, feigning sleep but Shiro continues anyway. “It’s like something’s changed, but the only thing I can think is… today.   
“Is it…. _Is today bugging you?”_

Lance’s body tenses, enough for Shiro to notice he’s not asleep; their bodies no longer slotting together like perfect puzzle pieces. “Sh—”  
“Because we didn’t really talk about it,” Shiro says before Lance has a chance to conjure a lie, to throw the pair of them back to peace. “I apologised – _rightly so_ – for scaring you and hurting you when I grabbed you too hard. But then all of it was just swept under the carpet.” He’s rushing his words and although Lance raises a hand to the man’s lips, Shiro pulls it away and continues. “But obviously it’s a lot for you. I didn’t want you to see that, I really didn’t, I hate it even know if Keith sees, but I had a really bad day at hospital and I guess I just fell apart when I heard—”   
“Shiro, it’s okay,” Lance says forcefully. He leans up, pushing off his arms to sit up, wincing as his back aches and the tear of his ass reignites the fire in his legs. “I understand. Well, no not really,” he amends, “but Luis had nightmares and flashbacks. If talking sets you off, then don’t. I don’t like seeing you like that.” 

But before Lance can dwell on his own words, a memory snaps back to his understanding like elastic stretched too thin, no matter how desperate Lance was hoping to ignore this afternoon and pretend that Shiro isn’t opening up further. He had wanted to tell Lance everything, but Lance had said “no”. For the precise reason of not wanting to subjugate Shiro to any more triggered memories, but for some reason he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Although, there is…. _one thing…”_

Shiro is sat up too, now. His hand finds Lance’s hands, not holding but touching in the notion of comfort. Reassurance, perhaps permission to continue. “The… the name…” Lance says, apprehensive in case Shiro’s safe word is also a trigger. Of course it is, but that’s what he needs to say. Shiro has to understand his fault here. 

_“Kuro.”_

Immediately Shiro tenses, the touch withdrawn and Lance is hating himself for being too brash. But he knows what he has to say and throwing caution to the wind, does so. “You called me Ku— _that name_ when you were remembering. 

Shiro’s silhouette gives a shaky nod. “He d-died, because I couldn’t save him.” He sounds broken and hurt, Lance feeling for him. But he’s hurt too. “And you put that on me.”   
Confusion lights Shiro’s face, eyes searching for the understanding. Lance, unable to withdraw his words, continued. “You gave me his name, to tell you when it was too much. What if it had been too much for you?” 

And voicing the words, Lance suddenly realises where the discomfort has lain all afternoon; the reason why he’s been unable to relax.   
Shiro hadn’t give him a safety word, but instead a trigger. And he would be the one responsible for another attack but voicing that name, which although meant to stop Shiro from going too far, what if it had done the opposite.   
He knows what happens when soldiers lose their minds. He’s had the bruises from Luis and Donnie alike to know just what can happen when the mind can’t take it and retreats into itself. 

Shiro’s touch returns. At first, Lance jumped – he hadn’t been expecting it. But then, leaning into the palm that cupped his chin he allowed himself to be kissed, feeling wet lips against his own, and the thousandth “ _I’m sorry”_ whispered tenderly over his skin.   
“I just don’t want to see you like that. And I don’t want to be to blame for it.”   
“Never,” Shiro tells him adamantly, pulling them back to lie back down to the pillows and the warmth. Yet neither can sleep; too strained, too tense.   
It’s not the right mood to entice another few rounds, besides Shiro would refuse considering he’s hurt Lance enough tonight. They remain, laid beside one another with eyes upon the ceiling. Lance isn’t sure when he falls asleep, but he does, Shiro following soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHH WHERE AM I GOING WITH THIS THING I DONT KNOW!!!! ＼(º □ º l|l)/


	21. Cuppa Christmas Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy’s find a moment before the Christmas break and it’s all about the Christmas magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've realised why it was hard to write this chapter. Because it's March and I'm not feeling Christmassy at all (obviously). So after listening to Christmas songs on repeat and winding my family up from the incessant singing of Christmas carols, I managed to get this chapter out. And, as usual, when I get stuck it leads to sex.

**Monday 18th December**

Shiro watched Lance from the sofa; the spread of Christmas cards, wrapping paper and still-to-be wrapped presents that he had yet to wrangle into the pretty paper and ribbon bows. The TV has been changed to the Christmas song channel, rather than whatever cartoon had been on because apparently Lance can’t concentrate if there is something to watch. He’s been trying to sort out Shiro’s mess of Christmas decorating for the past three hours, but little distractions kept pulling him away.   
Including Shiro, who’s been told he can’t move from the sofa. It’s not Shiro’s fault that he wants to cuddle his boyfriend, especially when said boyfriend is wearing a naughty _“kiss me Santa”_ dress for a University fundraiser he was participating in today. Sadly Lance had forgone the high heels, claiming them to be a hazard with all the snow and ice, but his black boots with the one inch heel and lacy detail were just as sexy. 

Shiro was beginning to wonder if _“Daddy”_ wasn’t his only kink. Certainly the red knitted dress was doing something to him, or perhaps it was just the boy who was wearing it. 

“Oi, these are your presents, so come help me,” Lance snapped suddenly, pulling Shiro out of his thoughts. He was struggling with an odd shaped parcel and a roll of penguin wrapping paper. On closer inspection it was the necklace/bracelet charm tree that Shiro had bought for Allura.   
Sadly, for Lance, it was too big to fit in the gift bag he’d bought for it – because apparently Shiro was an idiot and didn’t get it with a box, and now Lance was left to make the thing look pretty and hard to recognise. He didn’t quite respect Keith nor Shiro’s attempts at wrapping and had been utterly appalled at the atrocious mess he had found piled next to the stairs. And that was before he’d even looked at the tree. 

It was a seven foot monstrosity that scraped the paint on the walls and left pine needles all over the cream carpet. Shiro had done his best to decorate it, having used the excess decorations from the café. Little baubles of silver and red and gold and green _and blue and purple and pink and—_ Well, Lance wasn’t impressed to say the least. _“No colour co-ordination,”_ was his choice of phrasing, eyes wide, spitting inconsistent gibberish, only worsened when Keith strutted in with a happy _“it looks good to me.”_  
Not to Lance. He gave both boys a lecture on colour themes and an equal coverage of the tree, pointing at sparse gaps in the tinsel/bauble avalanche, which left gaping holes of dark green pine needles. 

Shiro’s two hour job was pulled apart in ten minutes and re-done. He did admit; it looked better after Lance had added his artistic touch to the entire apartment.  
Lance had wound twinkling lights up the banister to the third floor, before adding thin garland wreaths that Shiro used to just lay on the mantel piece. Instead, Lance had arranged little ornaments there, the ones too heavy for the tree to hold; glittered rocking horses and glass Santa ornaments. He pinned up several decorative stockings, one for each of the cats and two more for Keith and Shiro.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me _“helping”_ you,” Shiro smiled from the sofa, looking down to Lance who is still trying to fix his mistakes. He was deliberate in letting his eyes linger on the net tights disappearing under the hem of Lance’s dress, hooked up near his thigh.   
Lance clicked his fingers to gain attention once more before pointing at the tape that had rolled away. “I’m not on about you being touchy feely, you ass-lusting prick, I’m asking you to help me wrap the presents to make them look pretty before you drive me home. Because you _are_ driving me home tonight,” Lance added with a scowl, looking to the flurry of snow coming down the window. 

“You could just—”  
“No, no I’m not staying, I already told you. I’ve got a whole shift at work tomorrow and only until Wednesday to finish my assignments, and email them to Iverson so he gets off my back. I can’t stay, I don’t have time.”  
“So instead you’re wasting time correcting my and Keith’s Christmas mistakes,” Shiro challenged.   
Lance scowled. “This isn’t a mistake it’s an utter disaster. An atrocity even. I refuse to allow such gifts to be given if I can do anything to rectify your mistakes.” 

Shiro receded, slipping off the sofa to join Lance cross-legged on the carpet, grabbing the tape for him. “You know Allura usually comes round and re-wraps everything anyway. Even her own.” Lance balked, taking the opportunity to whap Shiro on the head since he was now within reach. “Then that ruins the surprise you dick. You ruin the magic of Christmas!”   
“I doubt that. We always have a good time. Which comes back down to it, will you come over?” Shiro had been hoping Lance would and although his first invitation was shot down with a _“we’ll see, but I’m not sure what’s happening yet.”_ But Lance never gave him a complete answer, so Shiro was asking again. “Allura, Pidge and Matt are staying Christmas Eve for the night and it looks like Hunk and Shay are coming for dinner.”   
But the hope in Shiro’s chest deflated at the small droop of Lance’s shoulders. “Shiro, I can’t, I’m going home to see Mama and the family. It’s why I’m rushing all my assignments because I won’t have time to study or work on them when I’m back in Cuba.” 

They lapsed into silence; just the sound of Coldplay’s _“Christmas Lights”_ playing in the quiet living room. Shiro understood, remembering his old days of returning to Japan to see his mom. But once she re-married, Shiro’s visits lessened to give her and her new family time to grow.   
Lance was obviously still close to his family and such limitations didn’t apply to him. Of course he’d want to go see them. It’s Christmas; time meant to be spent with family. And it’s too soon for Shiro to be going to Lance’s place.   
So yeah, he understood. 

“Hey, you know I would stay if I wasn’t going home,” Lance said suddenly, reaching out to grab Shiro’s hand. “I’m back before New Years, so if you’re celebrating that then we can do something then. Light fireworks or go drinking, if you fancy.”   
“New Years then.” 

They returned to the task of wrapping the remainder of the presents, except for the two that Shiro didn’t allow Lance to touch, although by Shiro’s standards they were exceedingly better wrapped than his other attempts.   
A cocked eyebrow from Lance was the only question he got, before mumbling shyly, “they’re yours.” 

To Shiro’s surprise, Lance blushed. A bright shade of red, as red as his knitted dress, the sleeves pulled over his hands as he attempted to bury his face. “Asshole,” came the muted curse. Shiro laughed to himself, crawling over to sit behind Lance. He brackets him in between his thighs, wrapping arms around his middle as he pulls the boy back into his lap, resting his chin on his shoulder. Looking down, he watched Lance continue to write out the little label for Allura, distracted as he signs it: _“From Shiro and Lance, Merry Christmas.”_  
It’s all very domestic and Shiro can’t help but nuzzle his face further into Lance’s neck, inhaling a fruity perfume that clings to his boyfriend’s skin.   
“Fuck off,” Lance says, tapping Shiro’s forehead with the pen playfully. “I’m not staying over.”   
“You would if I just tie you up and don’t let you leave,” Shiro hums playfully, picking up the ribbon as he presses little kisses to Lance’s nape, smiling at the shivers it brings. One hand slides up the front of the dress, fingers searching for something to pinch. Instead, Shiro finds something else. 

“Lance. Are you wearing a _bra?”_  
Lance looked up at him, his mouth quirking up a bit. “Does Daddy like it?” he purred, pushing back into Shiro’s lap, arse playfully rubbing against Shiro’s cock that’s been up and down all afternoon. “But you said you don’t want sex,” Shiro whined. He didn’t care if he sounded like a child, pulling at the top of Lance’s dress so he could peer down at the little black lacy bra that hugged Lance’s chest. 

The boy laughed, a hand lifting to catch Shiro’s chin, dragging eyes to meet his gaze. “I said I’m not staying over. I said nothing about not having sex.”   
“Oh god, just take it upstairs before you start undressing,” came a disgruntled sound. Both Shiro and Lance looked over to the kitchen where Keith had been sat writing Christmas cards at the living room table. He was giving the pair the stink eye, a deliberate jerk of the head towards the stairs. 

Lance played a wry smile. “What is it Keith? Jealous?”   
Keith returned the favour. “Of Shiro? Perhaps.”   
Perhaps that wasn’t the best answer to give, as Shiro rewarded Keith’s wit with a dark scowl. The next thing he did was stand, Lance in his arms despite the surprised yelp, heading up the stairs with a warning. “You might want to put your headphones on Keith. It’s going to get loud.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shiro's breath is hot against his neck as he buries his face into the space where head and body join, dragging a tongue deliberately slow, laving the skin, tasting the saltiness of Lance’s sweat despite it being chilly in the room.  
“Hold on,” Lance says, voice pitching when Shiro suckled him from behind, hands roaming around on his chest like he’s suddenly got a pair of coconuts to make him go bananas. Not for the first time, Lance feels a spike of annoyance to his own natural outfit, but Shiro’s never been displeased with him before, so the notion dies as quickly as Shiro’s lips take another place on his neck and gift him another hickey.

“Shiro, hold—hold on, I’ve still got my clothes on—”  
“I know,” Shiro growls, predatory as he listens to Lance’s breath hitch from the low, throaty sound of his voice, drowning in need. “But you look so damn delicious. Like a Christmas present, all for me.” Another kiss, another moan.   
“I’m going to take my time in unravelling all those layers.”   
“Hopefully not too long,” Lance teases, grabbing a hand off his breast, guiding Shiro’s hand to cup his semi-hard on through his clothes. It earns him another kiss to the neck, Lance leaning back into the motion with a moan to show Shiro he’s loving it. 

It’s not long for the dress to be off Lance’s body and laid on the bedroom floor. He stands in his boots and swathes of black silk over his breasts and strips of the same lacy material clinging to his hips.  
“Fuck baby,” Shiro whispers, holding Lance at arm’s length to get a full view of his thin, limber body that wears the lingerie; the small piece of fabric disappearing between Lance’s cheeks, the head of his cock peeking over the top of it. The translucent lace of the bra shows off his nipples, hard and erect, ready for teasing. 

Lance takes Shiro by the hand, walking backwards to the bed, laying down as Shiro crawls on top of him, still entrances, still mouthing incessant praise until Lance places a finger on his lips. _“Merry Christmas Daddy.”_

Shiro’s grin grows wide upon his features, his eyes filled with love as he looks over his beautiful, _beautiful_ boyfriend. “Merry Christmas Baby.” 

They’re all hands and kissing, Shiro savouring the moment of them together, smiling when lance moans, unable to hold back his own pants when the boy’s manicured fingers pluck buttons from their holding, freeing his erection to be played with.   
“Let me taste it,” Lance says, breaking Shiro’s attention from where he’s rubbing Lance through the thong. It’s his tone that catches his attention, needing, wanting. He can’t say no, doesn’t even want to, just sitting back on the bed as Lance drops down to kneel on the floor. He tugs down the zipper with his teeth, careful of Shiro’s rapidly hardening dick that still remains constricted by his monkey-print pants. Lance pulls them to Shiro’s thighs, then off, joining the dress on the floor somewhere near the sofa, stopping to admire Shiro’s erection, blushing pink as it stands free and proud. 

“What’re you waiting for baby?”  
Shiro’s low voice broke Lance out of his reverie. Lance balanced himself on his knees, ignoring the discomfort in favour of reaching out, and taking Shiro’s cock in one hand. He gives one long, slow stroke, a thumb rubbing the underside before leaning in and kissing the head. Shiro hums approvingly, Lance tasting his cock with a lick, and another, and another.   
He placed lingering kisses along its length, smiling up with a knowing smirk when Shiro growled out something about him being a teasing little minx. 

“You love this though,” Lance says, nuzzling the neatly trimmed hair at the base of Shiro’s dick, leaning into the fingers that card through his hair, his fringe lifted from his eyes as he looks up to Shiro’s content expression. “Of course I do,” he says, his voice filled with so much emotion Lance feels it in his _toes._

He turns his focus back to pleasuring Shiro, kitten licks along the length, returning to the head. He took it in his mouth, his lips forming a perfect little ‘O’ as he sucked softly, enough to send shivers down the man’s spine and a gift of pre-come on his tongue.   
Lance gets called a tease again when he leaves the cock to the pumping of his hand, instead kissing the inside of Shiro’s thighs. His free hand pleases himself, making his dick all wet with pre-come as he thumbs his own slit, his thong still clothing the erection except for the head. It’s much more fun to let Shiro tease him however, so the boy abandons his own erection, returning his lips to Shiro’s cock and swallows the first few inches.

Shiro growls at the pressure, eyes focused on Lance. He throws his head back when the boy bobs his head slightly. “Ahngh— _fuck,”_ he hissed, weaving a hand into Lance’s caramel locks, tugging lightly as Lance dipped his tongue into his slit, dripping with pre-come, drawing out a long, low groan from the older man.  
Lance slides down deeper, letting his throat work the magic Shiro has taught him until his nose is nestled at the base of Shiro’s cock. He swallows, knowing just what it feels like, smiling up with contentment as Shiro cries out, two hands buried deep in Lance’s head, holding him painfully tight, not letting him move. 

Lance swallows again. 

Shiro bucks his hips into the motion, Lance preening at the sight of his Daddy loving just what he’s doing to him. _“Sorry, sorry,”_ Shiro pants, stopping himself before he can buck again, releasing Lance. He pulls himself off Shiro’s dick to say, eyes slanted up in that cute way that brings Shiro right to the edge. 

“Daddy, I want you to fuck my mouth.” 

The words came slow and deliberate, Lance’s lips ghosting over Daddy’s cock, painting the words on his skin as he whispered them, not once taking his eyes off of Daddy’s face.   
Shiro said nothing, his eyes wide, listening to the echo of the words. Like magic they’ve ensnared him, his breath shallow as he leans down. A hand on Lance’s face guides him for a kiss, just full of emotion to tell Lance how much he loves him. He’s forgotten Lance’s provocative side, the side that is all seductive and lustful and downright filthy. Shiro loves it as much as he loves the sweet and timid Lance in the morning, the joking, playful boy who sits beside him on the sofa, the serious and mature Lance who studies diligently….   
Shiro is head over heels for his boyfriend. 

“Are—Are you sure,” he stammers, not quite denying that he doesn’t want to. The idea of it is as hot as seeing Lance in lingerie, and it’s something Lance has offered, so there’s something that he wants from it.   
The boy just presses his face against Shiro’s thigh, looking up to him with a deliberate smirk. “If Daddy wants it,” he plays, and who is Shiro to deny the invitation. It sparked something within him, a longing deep since him awakened as Shiro shifts closer to the edge of the bed. 

“Come here baby,” Shiro says, desperate to keep his voice steady, trying to hide just how much want Lance has released inside him. But the words are gruff and carnal, his voice a growl of sexual desire. 

Lance opened his mouth wide, relaxing his throat as Shiro held out his cock. Lance descended obediently, until his Lance’s nose was pressed up against his patch of neatly trimmed hair.

“Swallow,” Shiro said, the word more of a guide of what he wanted. Lance obliged, tempted to provoke Shiro into something more _‘taken’_ than _‘given.’_ Shiro doesn’t move, of course, too unsure of hurting Lance or crossing a line.   
But Lance knows how to tease him into it and refuses to move, only pulling back halfway to free his throat and allow himself to breathe though his nose. He doesn’t move to swallow Shiro back up, or worship his cock like it’s god on earth, _(Sex-God on Earth more like)_ just looking up sweetly to the confusion on his Daddy’s face. Lance raises his eyebrows: _a challenge._  
Shiro, stunned by the display, is slow to succumb to Lance’s urging. He soon realises though that Lance isn’t going to do any work, he doesn’t even swallow on demand. 

Shiro pulls Lance back towards him, burying his cock in his baby’s throat. The feeling of it constricting around his cock was so tight and wet, almost as if Shiro was already fucking his ass. But Lance’s ass is still hidden in the cute little thong. Shiro can see it, and, overcome with a sudden savageness, his restraint shatters. 

Shiro wound his hands in Lance’s feathery, soft hair, bucking his hips into Lance’s mouth, again and again, releasing his own heated moans, spurred on as Lance hummed appreciatively around his cock. Shiro let his head fall back, his eyes focused on the sight of his cock plunging deep into Lance, feeling his throat clench in instinctual protest.   
Shiro preened at the absolute destruction Lance had begged for, watching fresh tears spill from his eyes, the way they rolled back into his head when Shiro thrust in deep.   
Shiro twisted his fingers tighter, shoving his cock hard into Lance’s mouth, feeling the rush of expelled air against his skin that made him feel so much more than just the wetness, the tight muscles, the wrecked look of Lance being used like a sex sleeve and _loving it._

_Fuck, it was just so dirty._

And when, after allowed a breath, Lance hollowed his cheeks and sucked at him while Shiro quickened his pace as he fucked into his mouth, he almost tipped over the edge, a biting moan ripping out of his throat, obscenities shouted loud and uncaring.   
He made to pull back, but Lance just looked up at Shiro with those wide, beautiful eyes, begging for all of it. _That’s just against the rules._

“Shit, L-Lance… Baby I’m c-coming,” he panted, to which Lance only worked harder, sucking strong with bruised lips stretched around his Daddy’s cock, swallowing down his release, drinking as if he had found an oasis after wandering for days in the desert.

He pulled off of Shiro’s cock with a lewd pop, eyes bleary and unfocused, lips swollen and red as they pulled into a soft, contented smile. Shiro stared down, enchanted by Lance’s gaze, a thumb catching a bead of his own come from the corner of the boy’s mouth. Lance licked at it, his tongue working a practised skill as he pleasure Shiro’s thumb, worshiping it like it was the man’s cock. 

“Come here baby,” Shiro said softly, reaching down to grab Lance. He pulled him up, into his lap, their lips meeting in slow, gentle motions like Shiro wasn’t just mercilessly choking Lance with his dick. The lingering flavour of his release clings to the inside of Lance’s mouth but that doesn’t stop the deep kisses, listening to the purrs as his hands hold his baby close.   
A gasp breaks the kiss; Lance catching his breath when Shiro catches a sensitive nipple between two plucky fingers. He’s under the cloth of the lacy bra, touching directly, humming happily. Soon he’s moaning when Shiro lays over him, lips mouthing Lance’s nipples, the bra pushed up to stop hiding his breast as Shiro’s tongue slides up and down, lower to his bellybutton, watching Lance squirm beneath him as he roams his body with amusement. 

He rose to meet Lance’s lips once more, Lance kissing back with fervour as he tugged at the hem of Shiro’s shirt still hiding his body. Shiro got the message and broke the kiss briefly to fight with his shirt, shedding it and throwing it to who cares where. Lance was on him in less than a second, pushing him down onto the bed and crawling on top of him. Shiro’s heart fluttered when the look in Lance’s eyes softened with smile. “Hey baby.”

Lance kissed every inch of his body, sucking and nipping at Shiro’s skin like he was a delicacy. His cock, untouched from where he had played with himself, still hung tight in the thong, but with Shiro’s hands, the bra is off, his boots too. The thong remains, but it won’t stay for long. 

Lance latches his lips to the side of Shiro’s neck, the sound of his wet sucking becoming louder with the quietness of the room. “Baby,” Shiro sighs into Lance’s mouth when Lance gives him a kiss that’s really nothing but a brush of their lips.

Lance mouths his way across Shiro’s prominent collarbones, focusing on his scars now and again as he moves. “I’m going to ride you, Daddy. Let me take care of you.” His voice is rough and scratchy from choking deep on Shiro’s dick; a complete contrast to how he usually sounds, all candyfloss and sugar.  
And as much as he wants Lance to ride him, Shiro smiles up with a gentle shake of his head. “Baby’s been looking after me all night. Now it’s my turn.” 

Lance groans at the roaming hands on his back, the gentle touch of fingers reaching down towards his perky little arse that’s been mouthing for a cock since Shiro got all hands and dirty thoughts in the living room.   
Shiro is once again the one leaning over Lance, their roles reversed as he kisses and suckles and bites – not too hard – sketching out Lance with his lips, holding him like a precious treasure.   
Because he is. He’s precious, he’s wonderful, he is the embodiment of euphoria and Shiro never wants this to end. 

Shiro digs out the half-empty bottle of lube from his drawer and positions himself near Lance on the side of the bed.   
But before he can pop the cap and coat his fingers, Lance snatches it was a devilish grin. Shiro looks to him in confusion, remaining still when Lance tosses him a wink and pulls his thong to the side, circling a lube covered finger around his rim.

Shiro creeps closer to Lance, reaching out to slick his own fingers, wrapping them around Lance’s cock as he pushed in two fingers, his hole swallowing them with almost no resistance. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, when the hell did Lance have a chance to play with himself?_  
Realising Shiro knew Lance’s dirty little secret, he offers him a shaky smile.

“Daddy, hng~,” the boy preened, adding a third finger in his wanton display, moaning at the stretch, and Shiro couldn’t help but be jealous of Lance’s fingers. He wanted to be the reason for all those filthy moans to fall from Lance’s lips.   
And he’s going to be, he decides, slicking a single finger to add to the mix. 

Lance throws his head back at the rush of ecstasy, giving up and letting Shiro work him open, pleasuring him like he’s pleasured Daddy. 

Shiro loved the way the thong looked on Lance, pulled tight and pushed aside. He wanted to rip it off, to get rid of the piece of clothing that keeps trying to get in his way, only giving him teasing glimpses of Lance’s glistening pink hole, the veiled sight of his dick, all wet and throbbing.  
“God you’re so fucking hot,” Shiro rasps, pulling out his fingers in favour of coating his own cock in lube. Lance whines at the emptiness of his ass, chasing after Shiro’s fingers, but Shiro is already crawling back over him, knees pushing Lance’s thighs apart. “Wait for me love, I’m almost there,” Shiro says, grabbing the lube bottle again. 

But once more, Lance gets their first.   
He takes Shiro’s hand, his tongue swirling around his fingers; the ones that were inside him a moment ago, still slick with sweet strawberry flavoured lube and the musky taste of himself.

“Let me, Daddy, I want to do it.”   
Lance fumbles with the lube, squeezing an unnecessarily large dollop of lube to coat Shiro’s cock.   
Shiro teases him, distracting him as his fingers probe Lance’s mouth, fingers pressing on his tongue, at his cheeks, reaching deep into his throat that make his eyes widen. Lance coughs at the back of his throat, Shiro pulling back but suddenly a hand holds his there, Lance suckling at the fingers desperately. His other hand slides smooth down Shiro’s cock; the feeling unbelievable, his hand barely fitting around the girth of his member as he held it with a tight fist.

Shiro kept probing Lance’s mouth as the boy slicked his dick, leaning down to suckle the boys’ nape, tasting a hint of salt from Lance’s smooth skin as he cleaned the sugary lube off where’s it’s dripped from their fingers.   
Lance’s hand trembled as it clamped around Shiro’s dick, working him faster until he was hard again.

Shiro’s hand works Lance’s throat, his fingers feeling the pleasure his dick did, in an out like he’s thrusting in, dragging the boy’s saliva up, dropping his lips for a taste as Lance whine’s his name over and over. He moves in, closer, knees pushing Lance’s thighs until their played, feeing Lance relinquishing his hand to the tip, leading it into his puckering hole.   
Shiro thrusts in, both fingers and dick reaching deep to the dulcet song of Lance’s screams, head thrown back, body limp on the bed as Shiro eases himself into a pattern, hearing the heavy slap of skin on skin. Lance’s voice pitches with every deep slam, Shiro’s hands a mind of their own, steadying Lance with one as his other delves deep, feeling the scrape of teeth against his finger, the expelling air that tells him to pull out, his cock thrusting again and again and _“oh god baby you’re so fucking filthy, so fucking beautiful, god I just love you, love you, love you so much.”_

Lance keens to the words, swallowing Shiro’s dick, calling out his name as he latches onto him, nails dragging little white scratches down his back as he holds on, crying _“deeper, deeper_ Daddy so much deeper.” 

Shiro fists his hand in the back of Lance’s head, holding him there as their lips meet, hot, heavy, pouring in as much emotion as he can, drowning in the lust of love and filthy of this act between them.   
But Shiro’s not acting. He loves Lance, loves him so much its painful. But it’s a good pain, an addictive pain and he’ll never wish it gone. 

Shiro pulls Lance up, body under his, Lance in his lap. He whimpers at the emptiness, positioning himself with quivering hands over the reddened head of Shiro’s cock, and slowly worked himself down until he was fully seated on top of Shiro. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath, catching the mess of his mouth to wipe it away, letting Shiro kiss him, lick him, wipe it away as the man’s cock moulds his insides. 

Lance he placed his hands on Shiro’s chest for leverage and lifted his hips up off of Shiro.

Daddy groaned, low and raspy as he watched Lance bounce on his cock, eager to please to pleasure him into another climax just from the display and tightening of his body. He could see the way Lance’s thighs trembled, muscles tightening and releasing in the hottest fucking way that leaves him dry and gasping for something to suckle on. Lance’s perky nipples look delicious but they’re too far away. Besides the boy is enjoying himself as he bounces on his Daddy’s huge cock.

Lance struggled to continue his fast pace, but Shiro was there to help him. He bucked his hips up, the tops of his thighs meeting Lance’s ass with loud smacks of skin, filling the quiet room with more than moans.

Shiro rammed his cock straight into Lance’s prostate, his hands bruising Lance’s hips as he pulled him down onto his cock. “Da-a— _Daddy,”_ Lance panted throwing his head back. Sweat clung to his hair, dripping down the sides of his neck and flying onto Shiro’s chest.

Shiro yanked Lance down towards him, still thrusting into Lance at a rapid pace, “Come for me, baby, come for Daddy,” he commanded, his tone a demanding growl. Lance could feel Shiro’s lips brushing against his ear before he caught his earlobe between his sharp teeth, tugging hard. The slight pain sent a shiver through his body and travelled straight to his leaking cock.  
He bit down on his lips as he rode himself closer to climax on Shiro’s dick, almost cutting through his skin when he felt two long fingers being shoved between his rosy lips. Shiro pushed his fingers deep into his mouth, making him gag once again. Tears ran down his face and drool dribbled out of the corners of his mouth when he came, painting their chests white with release.

Lance looked so ruined and defiled on top of Shiro, still riding his cock weakly like a good boy. Shiro flipped them around, pulling Lance’s legs over his shoulders, and thrust hard into him. Lance mewled weakly, exhausted, as Shiro’s cock hit his bundle of nerves over and over again until he spilled deep inside of him biting Lance’s shoulder, leaving behind lasting marks.

Lance pulled him down to murmur a sweet little, “Merry Christmas Daddy,” in his ear with his lilting voice.

Shiro thought that this was his best Christmas present yet, pulling out to lay beside his boyfriend and thank him, his words nothing but praises as he pulls Lance into his chest with little kisses and a new love for that Christmas magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the fluff. The story is about to change from here.


	22. Pot Calling The Kettle Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Shiro, life couldn’t be more perfect.   
> For Lance… Well, he has enough to deal with concerning his feelings and the situation with Shiro, trying to combat all his Uni work before he leaves for Christmas, and now…   
> Now someone else is adding to his confusion.

**Monday 18th December**

Shiro saunters up the stairs, his face practically split in half where his smile consumes his face, humming his own rendition of Bieber’s _“Mistletoe”_ that has just been playing on the Radio as he drove back from Lance’s apartment block. He doesn’t even _like_ the damn song ( _he’s a classic man through and though),_ but Shiro is completely tripping out on love that he doesn’t even care, racing up the stairs two at a time. Black comes to meet him with a loud miaow.   
“I agree with her. Shiro, that’s a terrible song.” Keith is set out on the sofa, only dressed in boxers as he hogs a tin of quality streets. O’Malley lays sprawled on his lap; all the other cats having nestled up for the night. Rover opens one bleary eyes to glare at Shiro, who wasn’t deterred by Keith’s words, scooping down to gather the feline into his arms, continuing to sing, if not louder than before. He balters around the kitchen, making himself tea one-handed while Black lays in the other, regretting her decision of greeting the love-sick fool. 

Shiro keeps singing the entire time, despite clashing with the TV, laughing and smiling when he starts getting the words and the tune wrong. But he doesn’t care, he’s in love, but more like, he’s in _love love._  
“You are utterly revolting,” Keith mutters, turning back to the TV, gorging on all the red-wrapped sweets before Shiro can come and help himself. He’s watching Trolls, which raises Shiro’s eyebrows because Keith is never one for family genre movies, or animation. Unless it’s Anime, but apparently that’s different or something. 

The longer Shiro watches him from the kitchen, he realises the boy isn’t quite settled. He keeps pulling out his mobile, but only checking the screen, like he’s waiting for a text, or a call. Each time he checks, and the screen remains empty, his expression changes, between anger and sadness. 

“You okay?” Even without Keith answering, he knows he’s not, and although he’s still on his high, he quickly dampens his energy levels, moving to the armchair, dropping into it as Black and Ashes, who had been lying on the back, curled up in his lap with copious amounts of purring.   
“Yeah I’m good,” Keith lied, making a point of staring at the TV. “Right… And the reason that you’re downstairs at… quarter past midnight, glaring at singing trolls instead of sleeping is because…”  
“Well it’s not like I could sleep with you screwing _‘Miss Kiss Me Santa’_ until the entire street woke up.” Shiro grins, but Keith’s glare sobers him a little. Just a little. 

“I took Lance home well over half an hour ago. So what is this about?” he asks, voice soft. “Nothing.”  
 _“Keith.”_ The younger brother threw Shiro a filthy look. “Don’t use the dad tone with me.”  
“Well then tell me what’s up and I wouldn’t be forced to use the _‘dad tone’.”_ It earned him another scowl, but Shiro gave as good as he got. They’re at a stalemate; both equally stubborn and refusing to give. Keith does in the end, with a sigh and a throw of his hands. “Fine, alright I’m just annoyed because me and a boy I’m dating aren’t talking.”   
“Oh—”  
“And that’s the end of that conversation,” Keith said quickly, glancing to the twinkling lights of the immaculate Christmas tree. Lance certainly did have a knack for decorating. “How’s your love life?”   
“I thought you knew. He’s just been round here in a dress,” Shiro says, his smile firmly back on his face. Keith catches his eye. “And lacy black bra and a lacy black thong, I _know,_ I could hear you two fucking.” Shiro grins.   
“Oh wipe that silly look off your face, you’re going to make me hurl.”   
“Jealous?” Shiro asks with an eye waggle, drinking his tea before it can cool. “Yes actually,” Keith grumbles, glaring angrily at his phone. “But do you know what, I don’t care. He can keep being an ass, he can keep sleeping around. I’m done.” He stands, slipping out from under O’Malley, snatching up his phone and the remote, tossing the latter to Shiro. “I’m going to go to bed. You’re busy tomorrow so you should think about doing the same.”   
He left first, leaving Shiro to smile at himself. _My baby brother is growing up._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Tuesday 19th December**

Lance is dying.  
Literally dying.   
Well and truly _dying._

And now he’s dead. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” Dale says from the sofa, tapping the volume button up as Lance lets out a long needy whine from the kitchen floor. “But I’m _dying,”_ he says, face pressed into the tiles, body flat against the cool surface, trying to ignore the email that stays open on his phone. “You’re not dying, you’re just trying to avoid responsibilities, so get your lazy ass off the floor and either pack or finish your assignment.”  
“Don’t wanna.”   
“My god you’re such a baby.” 

Lance just whined again, trying to ignore the headache that Iverson was giving him with all his demands. All the other professors had allowed the students to work on projects over Christmas break, but why Mr Eye-Patch was the only one who demanded homework finished by tomorrow, Lance will never know. 

“He wants me to write an eight thousand word essay. By tomorrow.”   
“Lance, you’ve had weeks to get this done,” Dale deadpanned, jamming the volume button. The idiot deserved no pity, considering he wasn’t even meant to be spending last night round Shiro’s, and he had done so anyway, coming back at midnight and screwing up his sleep schedule and plans to work the entire day before packing. 

Lance lifted his head, backing out of the announcement email from Iverson, refreshing his inbox, hoping for the incoming email from his Dad. Still nothing.   
He huffed again, bored of lying on the floor and got up, deciding to give up on Iverson’s project for now. He closed his books and threw them back on his desk in his room, returning to the kitchen to procrastinate once more. “Lunch?”

Rather than Lance’s usual concoction of gumbo or an English Breakfast Baguette (literally an English breakfast meal all piled into a baguette plus chips), he ended up dishing up pancakes for himself and Dale, coming to sit beside him on the sofa as they watched the rest of Bondi Rescue reruns, the boy’s eyeing up all the asses clad in bikinis and Speedos.   
They have their favourites of course, and their own little ideas of a beach side fantasy, Lance having already experienced his own from his Californian Holidays with Hunk. Not _with_ Hunk, but when he was there with Hunk and…   
“Oh god, I don’t want to think about my best friend like that,” Lance said, palming his eyes. “Because Hunk is good looking, but he’s got Shay and I’m not— I wouldn’t— _oh god.”_ Dale is laughing at him, his eyes twinkling with a light similar to Pidge’s when they had found a good joke to hang on to.   
“Oh god, you’re going to use this as blackmail against me, aren’t you,” Lance balks, burying his head into a pillow. “Kill me.”  
“Nope, this is way more fun,” Dale laughed, his body dancing on the sofa as he sung, “ _Lance has the hots for Hunk~”_ repeatedly, while Lance grew redder and redder.

They lapsed back into silence after a while.   
Lance struggled to keep his concentration on the TV, and not back to the assignment sitting idle on his desk. He can feel it scratching in the back of his mind and it can’t stop him from fidgeting as he sits, trying not to think.   
Lance’s mind likes wandering, it always has. It finds its way to the confusion of Shiro, probably working hard in his Café, a ten minute walk away, and the idea of going to visit, despite his words last night that he _can’t_ is starting to sound very appealing.   
Although, Lance is meant to be packing and he’s meant to be writing his assignment and he’s meant to be calling up his Dad and asking why the booking conformation still hasn’t been sent—

“Hey Lance?” Dale catches the boy’s attention, turning his unseeing eyes from the TV back to fidgeting fingers and a bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, what’s up?” Lance asks, a little slow in realising that the relaxed mood in the room has changed. Dale is still looking at the TV but he isn’t watching it, Lance can see that.   
“Can… Can I ask you something? Real quick?” he says. His eyes meet lances, but they flicker away just as quickly. Lance feels his brow furrow, noting Dale’s nervousness. “Well I think you just did,” he jokes, trying to ease the tension, watching Dale’s fingers dig into his wrists in the way he does when he’s uncertain or not feeling right.   
Dale smiles, but it’s a nervous smile, like he’s not sure if he wants to be smiling or not, and his hand still haven’t stopped fidgeting. Lance flicks him. “Oi, dude, you’re worrying me now, like you’re about to tell me I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable disease. So spit it out.”   
He shuffles closer, leaning into his vision, despite Dale’s efforts to keep his eyes anywhere but Lance’s face. “I was uh…. Well I was— because it’s Christmas, and you’re going home, and I wanted to say— well I wanted to ask, if, uh… well maybe…”   
Dale stumbled over his words, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck, his eyes finally meeting Lance’s.   
“Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

Lance stared, wide eyed, taken back by the sudden confession.   
Oh. 

_Oh._

It takes a moment, and then another, Lance listening to the words in his head echoing, trying to get himself to understand just what Dale means by that. His silence isn’t doing anything for Dale, who watches him with sad eyes, but a knowing resolution. He’s waiting for the rejection. 

Lance though, is still trying to come to terms with the truth of the matter, his brain supplying him clippets of memories of the two boys cooking together, dancing to Mamma Mia when they were drunk, drinking together in clubs, when they first met and Dale’s shyness, the quick acceptance when Lance asked if they’d room together and again for the third year in a row.   
His brain is in overdrive, sorting through questions he’d never considered. Dale is a friend, practically Lance’s best friend, aside from Hunk, who he’s known forever. But Dale has been there too, and although he flirts and sleeps around, there is a definitive line that his partners are sex friends and nothing more, whilst his heart beats for Lance, who has been burdening him with his own relationship problems, unknowingly hurting Dale every time he brings it up.   
_Oh god,_ and when Lance was boasting to Dale about his new hook up, the curiosity, the way Dale got defensive for him when he admitted that dating wasn’t on the table for Shiro, when he came home crying because he couldn’t handle the relationship and he’d fallen asleep with Dale in his bed. 

_Oh god._

All the memories come back again with renewed guilt, Lance’s face dropping in remorse, opening his mouth to apologise at least for hurting Dale.  
But Dale speaks first. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I know you’ve got Shiro and you said you’re in love with him. God I’m an idiot,” he whimpered, dry palming his face, catching tears that Lance hadn’t seen fall.   
“But you just— every time you come home, you’re always… well no not always, but sometimes, sometimes you look like you’re about to cry and it hurts to see you like that, because I know you want to date him properly.”

“You told me,” Dale says, hands holding Lance’s as they sit there, facing one another on the sofa, “you said that you wanted a real relationship, after a month of meeting up with him. You said that you had already fallen in love, that you loved him and you wanted him to love you back.  
“But you said he doesn’t want that. And Lance, it’s been two months, and you’re coming home crying and you’re sleeping in my bed and whenever I ask about Shiro, you always get this look on your face like you’re in pain.” 

Dale drops his head again. “I’m not… I know what you’ll say. I know that we’re just friends and that’s all, and saying this just ruined absolutely everything. But I wanted to tell you I love you.” Another tear falls from his eye, Lance quick to catch it, holding Dale’s cheek in his hand as he speaks, hurting as he sees the familiar pain on his best friend’s face.   
“I had a crush on you, back when we first met. And then, all of a sudden we were roommates and I was seeing you every day and I got to know you, and found out you liked guys too and I thought I had a chance. But then, I got scared that saying something would ruin our friendship and I didn’t.  
“But now, it just hurts too much to see you in pain when I know that you want love. Not just lust and sex and all the physical side, but the cuddling and the arguing over what Star Wars movie is the best and what colour is it, green or blue, and the lie ins and the dates and…” 

Dale swallows thickly; breaking his hands from Lance’s to wipe his eyes, keeping his arms folded over his face to hide his tears. _“I’m sorry.”_

Lance stares at him, completely shocked. He hadn’t been expecting that, at all. He knew they were close, and yeah, he’s thought about it once, twice… _a few times,_ but that’s beside the point isn’t it, because he loves Shiro. 

_But Shiro doesn’t love you back._

Lance turns from the thought sharply, but it won’t leave him.   
Shiro won’t love him back, he won’t look at us like that, but Dale will. _Does._ He wants a relationship, he wants commitment.   
But Lance’s heart wants Shiro.   
So what does he do? Date Dale, but still fool around with Shiro? But then, no, that would be like cheating, on both of them, even if he’s _not_ dating Shiro— No that’s a bad choice. 

So it’s either keep screwing Shiro on a non-committed level and just learn to live with all the heartbreak and the constant crap of this shitty one-sided love affair.   
Or date Dale. End things with Shiro and date Dale in a normal, boy loves boy relationship with dates and feelings and sex and… 

The choice is hard. Harder than Lance would’ve thought, his words catching before he denies Dale like his heart thinks it wants.   
Because it’s not sure, because he likes Dale too, but as a _boyfriend?_ He’s not sure. 

And as Lance sits there, he thinks, back to the conversation he had with Dale, in the Kitchen, when Lance admitted it was _“sex friends only.”_ Back then, maybe his words had been biased, but then he hadn’t confessed and Lance wasn’t to know that Dale wanted Lance to himself. But… he didn’t. Sort of.   
He was happy to let Lance be Lance, only until the pain came. The nights he comes in crying, the times when being alone is too hard and he opens up his bed so Lance can cuddle up to someone when he sleeps. They’ve done it before, when Dale was homesick, when Lance was ill, so there wasn’t much chance of Dale falling in love because of it. He said it was crush-at-first-sight. Then they were rooming and it was probably all fate in his books. Fate or destiny or something straight out of a romance novel. 

Lance turned back to the TV, listening to his own thoughts.   
Shiro has already told him, in less than a few words, that cuddly, tactile friends-with-benefits was as far as their relationship went.   
With Dale it can be all that and more. Lance can pour all of his heart in and not be worried about it breaking.   
Because _that’s_ what he wants. And sure, he wants it with Shiro, but if the man won’t give him that, then isn’t it better to give him up and date Dale who can?

All the thinking is hurting Lance’s head. Dale saves him from a headache as he speaks softly. “You’re… you haven’t said anything.”   
“What did you expect me to say?” Lance asks, looking back to him, brown eyes meeting green. “No. Probably a look of disgust or… but you look like you’re… well.” Dale wipes his nose with his sleeve, catching the tears that hung on the tip, dropping his gaze. “I thought you’d reject me right out. But you look like you’re actually thinking about it.”   
“Because I am.” 

That shocks Dale into silence. Lance turns to face him, crossing his legs, his entire body turned to face the other boy who is all tears and tangled limbs. “I’m not saying I’m in love with you, in the same way that you’re in love with me. But I do care about you. A lot. But it’s not like...”   
Lance stops, words catching even as he tries to deny the possibility of love between them. 

_But why does he have to?_

“I don’t… I don’t love you like you love me. But I won’t say no because—what I mean is…” Thinking is hard, and trying to get the words out is only harder. But thinking is hard and it’s easier if Lance just talks, so throwing caution to the wind, he does. 

“I’ll date you. For one month, but no expectations, no promises. We try it, if it works out then yeah, it works and we can keep going. If it doesn’t, then we walk away, no hard feelings, we’re still friends but we know dating isn’t how we work.”  
“And Shiro?” 

Dale bit his lip the second he spoke, eyes wide with the fear that Lance has completely forgotten to consider him.   
“Shiro isn’t a part of this,” Lance says, knowing that this is just between the two of them. His feelings for the man are one-sided and a problem he’ll overcome. But maintaining the relationship while dating Dale isn’t something that would feel right.   
“I won’t sleep with him, while we’re dating. We’re sex friends anyway, so it’s not like he can stop me from dating you. If he drops me because I’m with someone else, then so be it—”  
“No I don’t want that,” Dale said quickly. “I know you love him and if dating me breaks you two—”  
“So you’re okay with me still screwing Shiro?” Lance asked sternly. Dale dropped his gaze. “No.” 

“Dale, look, he’ll either drop me for dating you, or he’ll drop me for dating someone else. He and I will never be anything more than what we are right now, and I want more. So either it ends now, or later, but it _will_ end. If our trial fails, and Shiro wants to sleep with me afterwards, then that’s his choice. But I’ll be straight with him, like I’m being straight with you.”   
Lance is surprised by his own level headedness, despite having been tying himself in knots for the past four weeks over this. But what he says is right. He won’t cheat on Dale with Shiro and Shiro can’t keep him from finding love just for the sake of an easy booty call.   
If he does, then he’s not the man Lance thought he was. 

Dale blinks silently, a small smile creeping onto his features. He drops his head lightly, carding a hand through his fringe. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d say yes,” he laughed softly, his smile stretching out in a warmth Lance had never seen before. Genuine emotion swam in his eyes when he looked up, and although there were tears, they were happy. _“Thank you,”_ he breathed, and he meant it. 

Lance felt his heart flutter, surprising himself with the feeling.   
He surprised Dale with the kiss. 

A press of lips in a moment that Lance let his heart take control, his body moving forward into that soft, gentle moment. Maybe there’s no fireworks or sparks, but there’s something Lance feels in the brush of air that ghosts his lips.   
Dale brings their lips together again, a wave of warmth filling Lance up, soaking his heart in warm feathery light from the pure, innocent love. It’s infantile in nature, true and natural. 

And as Lance’s heart flutters at the gift of love, it misses a beat from the want of wishing this moment was shared with Shiro instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a forewarning, the next chapter's title is going to be called "Brewed Awakening"  
> I wonder what that could imply.....


	23. Brewed Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is getting snowed under by everything – Uni, his feelings for Shiro, Dale’s feelings for him, more Uni work and the waiting to see his family. It’s okay though, because he gets to go home to see them, where he gets to relax and chill, and take a break from all the stress his mind can’t let go of.   
> Before that though, Dale has his own plans to brighten Lance’s mood – some last minute Christmas shopping in town. It’s a great idea, and Lance is quick to agree. 
> 
> But, maybe he shouldn’t of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - May want to read in a quiet, closed space where crying freely will not be frowned upon. Bring tissues.

**Wednesday 20th December**

Cramming the useless information of whatever computer sciencey-shit this book is droning on about isn’t what Lance planned to be doing at nine in the morning, on a glorious and curiously beautiful day in the week before Christmas. It was still cold out, but the sun was shining bright this wonderful Wednesday morning and all seemed right in the world.   
All was right in the apartment at least, as Dale comes strolling out his room dressed in his minion/batman top. Lance watches with a smile, trying not to lift his face when the idiot practically skips over to the kitchen table and throws his arms around Lance’s neck, hugging him from behind, spreading his infectious happiness into Lance’s being. 

“So~” Dale sings, pushing his face against Lance, but not too much as to press the arm of his glasses into Lance’s cheek and leave a nice purple line on his skin. “I’ve been thinking.”  
“Dangerous,” Lance hums, leaning back in the chair, snagging his now cold coffee to down in one shot. Dale readjusts his arms. “You’re going home on Friday and so am I. And you’ve got one last assignment to drop into Iverson, so I was wondering if we did that, then maybe go shopping. Movie, coffee?” he says, his voice considerably quieter than when he began. 

Lance raised an eyebrow, turning his head enough to see the bright red blush on Dale’s cheek.   
“Mr Hunt, are you possibly asking me out on a date?”

Dale blushed, pulling back enough that he and Lance were no longer touching. “I was thinking about it. Because, I know you said that you were going to talk to Shiro before we… you know,” he mumbled, gesturing between the pair of them. Lance smiled, watching the blush creep further down the boy’s neck. “So, like… I don’t know but, maybe today is… two friends? Hitting the town? Because we’re not going to see each other for a while and I didn’t want you getting bummed out today with all you work.” 

It’s a good idea, and Lance is ready to accept, but Dale lifts his hands. “You know what? It was a silly idea, a stupid idea, forget I said—”  
“Dale.” Lance cuts him short, pulling his focus back to the here and now. “It sounds good. Give me an hour to finish up and we’ll catch the bus in.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This one?” Shiro holds up another dressy shoe, black straps and gold detail. Allura pauses where she’s pulling on some sunshine yellow ones complete with sunflower print holes that definitely don’t suit the current cold, mid-Winter weather. She spies the heels that Shiro is waving at her from his crouched position near one of the racks. It’s the fifth pair that he deemed fit the profile of “smooth, classy and comfortable,” as per the girls request. But like the last four, Allura isn’t quite in agreement. “They look nice. Not sure if they’re good for walking around in all night though.”  
“And those aren’t?” Shiro asks, prodding to the stiletto that Allura has already tagged as a must, claimed as they rest next to her bag. Allura roles her eyes, spits out her tongue and gets back to fiddling with the sunflower shoes, unable to stop herself from glancing at the trainers and pumps on the other side of the rail.

“Found anything you want to wear yet?”   
Before Allura could decide to browse for casual wear, however, she’s interrupted by another. Raymond is leant at the end of the rail, grinning down at the pair surrounded by shoes. “One,” Allura smiles up at her newly claimed boyfriend, gesturing to the stiletto boots beside her. “But I’m not really sure if they’re good for the whole evening, so I was looking at another pair just in case.”   
Ray offered a hand and pulled her from the floor. “You look good in anything babe. Even nothing.”   
Allura flashed him a look. “Oh I know, but it’s comfort first, style second.” Ray and Shiro share laughter as she puts back the sunflower shoes, taking the black and gold straps from Shiro to try on.   
He had already agreed with Allura to go shopping with her, mainly for the fact he needed her advice on some presents for Lance. He had two already; a new wrap-case with brand new water colours and art supplies, as well as a boxset of Disney classics. Keith said that would be enough, but Shiro had already planned another gift. The only problem was, he was shy about buying it, and needed Allura’s help. 

That was easier said than done, what with Ray tagging along. Shiro really didn’t mind, but he would rather not let not-quite-friends know about his escapades with his boyfriend. Allura was an exception because he had bought her silence with the stiletto boots and the price of another visit to the hairdressers. A small price to pay, for his and Lance’s privacy. 

Allura didn’t take long to choose another pair of shoes; three-inch wedges with lace and ribbon. Elegant, classy and comfortable. Perfect for the Raymond’s Christmas party that evening. Leave it to Allura to leave it to the last minute to buy her entire outfit. She gets a jumpsuit, a jacket and a handbag, all from different stores. Ray and Shiro start teasing her with pretend moans that they’re tired and bored with shopping, winding her up a little, but only for good fun.   
She relents and they decide for a break in favour of the food court that stands on the top floor of the shopping centre. Raymond takes their bags to save a table in the open-plan dining hall while he allows Allura and Shiro to argue it out on where they want to grab food from. There are plenty to choose from.

Shiro is fancying him a McDonalds when he spies a mop of feathery caramel hair sat at one of the tables near the queue. “Lance!”   
It’s not Shiro who calls out to him, but Allura, who skips the distance to the young boy, shocked at her arrival and doubly shocked when she throws her arms around him. Lips to his ear, she whispers a quick word, pulling back before Lance can question it, but then he spies Shiro. And blushes. 

“Hey,” Shiro says smoothly, moving close. Allura refuses to unlatch herself, meaning Shiro can’t give his boyfriend a kiss in greeting. He’s not fussed, he didn’t think he’d be seeing Lance until the evening when he came around to collect presents before he left for home, so this little surprise is pleasant enough.   
“Last minute shopping?” he teases, warmth in his stomach when Lance tries to suppress a smile. A glance to his friend before his trademark smirk. “And are you not the same? I thought today was your last day in the Café before Christmas break.”   
“I’ve got Keith and Matt covering the final shift, although I don’t think Keith is too happy about it,” Shiro replies. “I highly doubt it. He was saying something about hitting the Christmas market by the river. Said he wanted to try ice skating.”   
“Now that’s something I’d pay good money to see.”   
“You’re a charming older brother. What did Keith do to deserve someone like you?”   
“Don’t know. He just must be lucky.” 

Allura and Lance’s friend watch the conversation like a tennis match, they’re heads moving back and forth in time to the banter. It’s not too long for Shiro to realise that he’s being a little bit rude to the other, and he probably shouldn’t. “Hi, name’s Shiro,” he says, offering a hand to the kid that looks about Lance’s age. Brown hair with dyed orange tips and the same style clothes with neon trainers. No wonder he and Lance get on. 

The stranger took Shiro’s outstretched hand, offering a smile in return. “Dale.” So, he was Lance’s roommate.   
“Well before we all get cosy and ruin your day out, we’re going to head off,” Allura said, alleviating whatever awkwardness was slowly seeping in. “I still want to hit up a lot of shops, but before that, food.” Another kiss to Lance’s brow, a smile and wave to Dale, “it was nice meeting you,” and they’re off. Allura has to shove Shiro to get him moving, but he’s quick to take the hint, despite not wanting to, having been a second away from suggesting the five eat together. Spending more time with his boyfriend was the upside.   
Allura flashes another smile and wave to the younger two before they disappear into the crowd, having dragged Shiro halfway around the food court to the remarkably shorter queue for Nando’s. Not a bad consolation, considering their spicy chips. 

“Hey, Allura what was that for?” Shiro asked, rubbing his arm where the girl had pinched him when he made to refuse to move. She put her hands on her hips. “That was because I didn’t want you and Lance to start and impromptu make-out session right in the middle of town. Besides, you’d probably want to tag with him and his friend, and I thought you said you wanted my help with a gift,” she hissed, all fake anger and a knowing smirk clear on her lips.   
Shiro nodded, but didn’t affirm his want for kissing Lance. That was obvious enough in how red his ears were. 

“So, come on,” she said, looping her arm around Shiro’s, leaning against him. “Help me grab food, we’ll grab Ray and send him back to the car with the bags while we go and get Lance his surprise.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You okay?”

It’s probably the third time Dale has asked him since they left the food court, but it’s the first time Lance gives a straight answer rather than dodging the question. “Yeah, I’m good. In a way….” He mumbled, staring at his shoes as he walked, moving closer to Dale so that their shoulders brushed as they walked.   
“Well you’re obviously not.” Dale won’t let it drop, however leaving Lance to stare up at him, trying to hide the glum weight with a smile. It’s half-baked and Dale sees through it in an instant. “Hey, Lance, we’re meant to be out, having fun before we both go home. If you don’t want to stay out anymore, then we’ll just go home.”  
“But I thought you wanted to go and look at comics,” Lance said, gesturing to Forbidden Planet three shops down. “The comics will still be there when I get back. What I’m focused on now is you. Seeing him… with her, has obviously upset you. I just want to know if you want to head home, where there is a sofa, a tv and a stash of Rolo’s ice cream hidden in the freezer.”  
“Ben and Jerry’s?”  
“Nothing but.”

It earns a smile from Lance, and Dale is pleased with himself. He bumps him with his shoulder, before making to turn around, but Lance catches him. “No, comic book store first.” Dale makes to speak but Lance keeps going. “It’s fine, the ice cream will still be there.”   
With nothing left to say, they keep heading for the comic book store.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You should’ve invited them over, make it a double date plus one.”  
“And make Dale feel awkward? Ray you’re mean.”  
“No I’m not, I was saying it would be cool if Shiro and his boyfriend hung out with us too. We’ll have to do it sometime. Maybe like a bowling alley, or clubbing.”

Shiro put his drink down. “I’m not one for clubbing too much. Besides, I don’t think I want to show Lance off to everyone else.”   
“That’s not what Keith said,” Allura sang. Shiro scowls, but he’s too far away to silence her as she leans against Ray. “He seems to think Shiro loves flaunting Lance, considering how many times he _conveniently_ forgets Keith is in the room when they start getting down to business.”   
Ray raised an eyebrow as Shiro choked on nothing. “Dude, in front of your brother?”   
“Not on purpose.” Because, no it’s really not. Shiro just gets pulled in by Lance, like he has his own gravitational pull and there is no fighting it when the boy entices him closer. 

“I think my favourite story was when they were at the breakfast table and Lance called Shiro ‘Da—”  
“Aaa-and we’re stopping there,” Shio interrupted, voice loud, his glower a little bit more intense than he plan. Oh well, the desired effect was Allura’s silence and she held it. Mission accomplished. “Okay, fine. I’ll wait until your wedding day to tell that one.”   
“Please don’t.”  
“No promises.” 

Ray looked back and forth from them, using the chance to swipe a handful of chips from Allura’s plate. “You’ve proposed already? And you’ve been seeing him since November?” This time, Shiro actually chokes, and it takes a moment for him to dislodge his food before his evening ends with a trip to the hospital because the damn fool can’t eat chicken off a bone. “N-no, that’s just Allura messing about. I haven’t thought about stuff like that yet, cus’ I know that if I do I might end up jumping the gun.”   
But apparently, those are the wrong words to see because his best friend _(read: arch nemesis)_ is gleaming like a brand-new light bulb. “Oh, oh oh, idea, idea!” But by the tone of her voice, Shiro doubts he’s going to approve of this… _idea._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The boys spend longer in the comic book store than they thought they would. By an hour in fact.  
When they leave, their bags are heavier, their wallets lighter. “Ah man, I didn’t want to spend too much,” Lance grumbled to himself, looking at the few remaining notes. His card still has enough on it, but that was to last him the Christmas break. His first shift back wasn’t until the sixth of January, so trying to last the next two weeks might be tough. Or, not really because Mama wouldn’t let him starve, and there wouldn’t be much need for spending until it came to New Years.  
The idea brought Lance back to earth instantly, remembering his promise with Shiro. But, not wanting to dwell, hid it from Dale who was trying to adjust his bags so that none of the straps snapped on their way back to the bus.

“Need a hand?”   
“Huh? No, I’m good, I just…” Dale looked up, his sentence faltering as he spotted something over Lance’s shoulder. Lance noticed, about to turn, but Dale made a noise, grabbing his attention again. “Ow, ow shit. Okay, yeah, I might need a hand, my pinky is about to snap off,” he grumbled, a bit over the top. Lance didn’t think too much of it, taking the bag that, didn’t really feel all that heavy…. 

While Dale is loudly making a fuss of the other bags that hold presents for his family and last minute supplies, Lance turns to see what caught Dale’s attention. And he wished he hadn’t. 

Walking towards them are Shiro and Allura. She’s holding on his arm, elbows linked with a spring in her step. They’re laughing as they walk, reminding Lance of the ending to a rom-com movie, just before the credits. He steps to the side, hiding behind the entrance to the comic book store as the two come closer.   
Lance can hear them now, laughing about Shiro being shy, which makes him blush. “Oh come on, the girls were all teasing you. They wouldn’t even let me pick, saying it was all on you,” she says, beyond happy as she leans into the man that Lance loves. Shiro pulls his arm from her grip and lays it around her shoulders. “You were having fun, so don’t pretend you weren’t. But if I’d gone in by myself, they would’ve probably thought I was a perv or something.”   
“You are a perv, don’t deny it. But don’t forget, when you wrap it, take it out the bag. Then the present is a surprise.” Allura’s words pull Lance’s attention to the bag that Shiro holds. He’s not sure if it’s his heart or his stomach doing flips when he sees the _“Victoria’s Secret”_ label stamped across it. 

They’re close now, almost upon Lance. But before they spot him, and have to explain, Allura spots something. “Oh, there, Shiro look, look over there.” She pulls from his grasp and runs to the opposite side of the line of shops. “Shiro come on, we have to look in here,” she says, all giddy and childlike as she stands outside the jewellers, beckoning the man over. 

“Isn’t it a bit too early to be shopping for rings?”  
 _Wh… what?_

“You dummy, it’s never to early to shop for _anything._ Besides, this is important.”   
_No, no, I don’t want to—_

“Fine, but it has to be perfect. And nothing too flashy, I don’t want to make it obvious.” 

They disappear into the shop while the floor disappears from underneath Lance’s feet. He feels sick. He feels… betrayed. Yes, there wasn’t a promise between the pair of them that said there wasn’t to be others. They weren’t…. _this wasn’t…_

“Lance.” It’s Dale.   
He’s pulled him close, letting Lance bury his face in his chest, Lance’s tears dampening his shirt.   
“Come on. Let’s get you home.”


	24. Bitter Blend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Christmas. 
> 
> “Yay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, it's not been Beta-Read, so please excuse/ignore mistakes. Much love

**Saturday 23rd December**

“He’s still sleeping?”  
“Yeah. Just leave him for now. You know he’s not… _I mean,_ it’s not that—”  
“Don’t worry Dale. I get it.” 

He hears the sound of steps, light on the floorboards and the rustling of _things._ “I’m back on the eighth. You’re heading home too?”  
“I was going to. I promised my sister I’d go see her. But if he’s—”  
“Dale,” Rolo says, voice stern, holding a tone he only uses when he’s talking to that adults he respects. “If you stay, you know he’ll only beat himself up because of it. You’ve been harping on about seeing Gwen since June.”  
“But he—”  
“Dale, _I get it.”_

The sounds of footsteps can be heard underneath the slow boil of the kettle and the creak of the apartment door’s too-old, too-rusty hinges. “Look, if you want to stay, that’s your choice, but just make sure he _knows_ it’s your choice.” More shuffling. “Yeah, you’re right.”  
“And don’t forget it.” 

The pair of them share short, clipped laughter.  
“Look after him. And look after yourself too. I’ll see you in the new year.”  
“Yeah. Have a good one Rolo.” 

The door closes quietly, signalling Rolo’s departure. Lance doesn’t show he registers such, his eyes still staring blankly at the peeling pain in the top corner of the room, mind blank, thoughts clouded behind a dull ache from overthinking and crying and more thinking _and more crying._ His head hurts, his eyes hurt, his nose itches but he hasn’t got the energy to lift a hand and palm at it to make the sensation go away. It’s not like it is stopping him from sleeping. Not that he wants to do that either.  
Lance doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t want to sleep, doesn’t want to think, to feel, _to be._  
He just wants nothing, and peace it will bring. 

“Lance?” 

Lance doesn’t get nothing though. Theoretically, it’s impossible. But the ins and out of contronym-isical thoughts, ideas and hypocritical theories provided little escape from reality, even as Dale tried to pull him back with a hand on his brow and soft-touch tones that lay light on his ears. “Drink,” is all he says and he’s holding out a mug. Lance’s eyes flicker to the Stitch mug, complete with ears and cheeky smile, allowing himself to acknowledge Dale was there and _show_ Dale he acknowledged him.  
But the cute character mug reminded him of the Yoda mug that he used last time he was at Shiro’s place, when he had fought with Keith over those god-awful Jaffa Cakes and the first tin of Christmas sweets they’d snagged from the café’s supply. Shiro had ended his shift to find the boy’s laid on the same sofa, tired and drunk on chocolate, watching old black and white movies while the cats crowded their feet. 

The mug brought unpleasantly pleasant memories. 

“Don’t want it.”  
“Lance you need to—”  
“Don’t want it,” the boy gripes childishly, closing his eyes as if that would win him the argument.  
Dale, however, was one who rarely stepped down first. “I don’t care if you want it or not. I made you a damn drink, now drink it.”  
Dale pushes the mug closer, anger only held in his down and the fake frown of pulled eyebrows. Other than that, his hand lies gentle on Lance’s brow, lips soft as he tries to offer a smile. Lance stares back, offering nothing in return.  
There’s no competition to hold his corner. He hasn’t the energy to tell Dale to back off, nor does he have the energy to actually _move_ and defend it. He has just enough energy to breathe, and thank god it comes automatically, if not Lance wouldn’t have the energy to do that either. 

“Lance, so help me I’ll—”  
“Don’t want it,” Lance says again. This time, he turns his head away in defiance.  
A sigh and the sound of china on wood tells him Dale has relinquished his hopes of forcing the scalding drink down the boy’s throat. All he wants is to lay in bed, be depressed and wait out the apocalypse. Yeah, the boy is being dramatic, but to him, all he can think is that the world has turned on him and that there’s nothing to come but the end of the world.  
It’s not just Iverson threatening to fail him for the entire year for failing to turn in the essay, or the fact that the apartment above his room leaked and now most of his possessions have been lost to water damage, even his mattress and now he’s sharing Dale’s room.  
It’s not just the fact that he’s hurt his wrist because he slipped on the ice coming home from seeing _him_ and _her_ shopping for their forever-future.  
It’s not just the fact he’s confused about his relationship with _him_ and his relationship with the one that’s stroking his brow, fearing fever.  
It’s not just the fact that the email from his Dad never came, and when he called he’s told that his family are going to Australia to see Maya and her husband so he’s not even going to see them for Christmas.  
It’s not just the fact Dale and Rolo are going to their families and he’s going to be alone, that everyone else already has plans and…  
_He’s going to be alone._

“Lance?” 

He’s crying again.  
Of course, he is. It’s all he’s been fucking doing for the past _god knows how long._ And as he cries, bundled into Dart’s arms, Lance just can’t help but curse silently. 

_Merry fucking Christmas to me._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Sunday 24th December**

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? Because I can—”  
“No Dale, it’s fine. Gwen wants to see you. Besides, you’ve got to record her opening her presents,” Lance says, the ghost of a genuine smile slipping through the cracks of the fake one that sits on his lips. “I don’t know what she’ll think, you buying her condoms, and if Joey’s going to be there—”  
“It’ll be a laugh for sure,” Dale grins, his happiness blooming when he spies happiness on the boy’s face. But all joking aside, he leans in, pulling him for a hug, pausing in his packing to join Lance on the bed, still wearing his lounging clothes and looking all cute with his hair mussed. “I can stay. Just say the word, I’ll stay, or shit, come with me.”  
But Lance can’t intrude. Not like that. Not when Gwen’s bringing her boyfriend and Dale asking Lance when the two of them are still trying to figure out their footing. 

“Dale I can’t—”  
“It’s not what I– I mean I don’t want you to be alone, and yeah, I know what we said,” Dale starts, rambling ever so slightly as he tries to un-dig whatever grave he thinks he’s digging. Even after the ten-minute tumble of words, Lance still hasn’t changed his mind, no matter how much he wants to pack a bag and piggyback a ride to Dale’s place and spend Christmas with a family. Even if it’s not his own.  
But Lance can’t. 

“Dale, it’s not that I don’t want to. But with us trialling a relationship and seeing Shiro with Allura…” Lance stopped, words filtering to silence as he tried to think through words and thoughts. “I need to speak with him. I need him to understand I can’t keep doing this with him.” The boy looked up, cheeks pink, face warm as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “I have to do this properly Dale. I half-assed it with Shiro and look where I am. I don’t want to half-ass it with you.”  
He leans in then, letting Dale wind his arms around him, the two of them slumping back to the sheets, cold now their body heat has left them.  
Dale pets Lance’s hair, resisting the urge to kiss him, knowing now isn’t what the boy needs. Neither is too much sleep, but Lance is adamant about staying in the room and ignoring the world for who knows how long. Dale won’t have it.  
So when the boy has finished packing an overnight bag and presents for his family, he bundles Lance in a blanket and carries him out to the living room, bridal-style, inciting a fit of giggles from the pair of them. It’s Lance who grabs the TV remote and he’s picking out a Christmas film as Dale shoves on his shoes, but being as slow as possible despite the fact he’s got twenty minutes to make it to the train station. 

“Lance—”  
“Just go Dale.” And Lance smiles, a genuine soft smile. It’s not that same as his shit-eating grin, and although it’s for the sake of reassuring Dale, there is peace in his expression that sits warm in the boy’s chest. He doesn’t resist anymore, returning to the living room, leaning over the back of the sofa to catch Lance’s lips against his.  
“Just promise me one thing,” he breathes, not quite ready to pull away. “If you need me, or if you just want to talk or, or _anything._ Call me, okay?” They kiss again, sweet, soft, and Lance smiles as three turn into four. “I promise. Now go, before you miss your train. And I’ll see you when you come home.” 

Dale doesn’t delay for much longer, but that doesn’t mean he can’t pester Lance with a thousand texts as he hitches a lift to the station and settles himself in a window seat to watch the world go by. It’s a little after two in the afternoon when the final texts come in. 

_[From: Toastmaster – 14:04]_  
Alright, time to meet the family  
Haven’t seen them in a while, bet moms gonna be all tears 

_[From: Toastmaster – 14:05]_  
And don’t forget what I said  
If you need me, call me, text me, whatever  
I’ll come home 

_[From: Toastmaster – 14:05]_  
Shit I’ll even kidnap you and bring you home  
And you can spend Christmas with us  
You know mom would love you here and Gwen would love to see you too 

_[Message Sent: 14:05]_  
I know what I promised Dale  
Merry Christmas x 

_[From: Toastmaster – 14:05]  
Merry Christmas ya filthy animal xxxxxx_

Lance grinned to himself, sending back a reaction gif before dropping his phone back to the coffee table so he could focus on Frozen. But the film has already finished and the only thing that’s worth watching is _“It’s A Wonderful Life.”_ One of Lance’s favourite movies to watch at Christmas, but now its been tainted by memories round Shiro’s place, crashed out on his couch, surrounded by wrapping paper, poorly wrapped presents and the cats, playing with the baubles they’ve knocked off the tree.  
And Shiro, beneath him, Lance’s head pillowed on his chest, feeling the man nuzzle him close, whispering in his ear, _“what do you want? Do you want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon, Lance. I’ll give you_ everything.”

Lance jumped like he’d been electrocuted, grabbing the remote, demanding silence as it powered down. His heart beats fast in his chest, the touch of Shiro still tingling on his skin like the man still holds him now. He didn’t like it. _He didn’t like it._  
The boy scrambled from the blanket burrito, standing in the middle of the apartment, hot and flustered despite the goose bumps freckling his skin. He was warm and cold, wired and relaxed, but the spike of energy that coursed through his body wouldn’t let him lie down and forget.  
Suddenly the apartment was too stuffy. There was too much wrong with this place, with the leak in his room and the noise of the other students upstairs, the wind battering against the window, Dale’s promise lingering, the confusion of being pulled between him and Shiro, the open laptop on the kitchen table where Lance had abandoned it after finding the email that severed him from his family for the holidays…  
The apartment was too stuffy. 

Lance is out the door before he knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t got anything; just Dale’s jacket that was thrown over the umbrella stand, sandals he would wear to go fetch pizza from the front door. No keys, no wallet, no nothing.  
Lance doesn’t notice. He’s just walking trying to escape somewhere that holds no familiarity to Shiro, but somehow it does and _Lance doesn’t like it._ He doesn’t like how walking barefoot across the floor reminds him how Dale says he’ll buy Lance a pair for Christmas, how Shiro already bought a pair of blue lion ones that are kept at the foot of Shiro’s bed or stolen by one of the cats.  
He doesn’t like it how the sounds of Christmas songs playing remind him of _every damn time_ he went to the Café, helping out behind the bar, mucking around with Matt and teasing Shiro when he gets all red in the face anytime anyone mentions the word “daddy.” He doesn’t like standing in the kitchen where he’s cooked Dale and Rolo their portion of food before rushing off on a date, or when he spends late nights sat on the counter, sexting Shiro or lazily chatting with Keith, or showing Dale the right way how to make hot chocolate, the way Shiro showed him.

Lance doesn’t like that fact that no matter how much he seeks release, all he can think is _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro,_ wishing that he could just forget. Dale loved him. Why couldn’t he just love Dale? Forget Shiro, forget the pain, just fall in love with Dale, be with Dale, only with Dale—

“Lance?”

He’s so broken, so torn, so distraught that no matter how much he seeks peace, he’s crawling back to the one place he wants it from. 

Shiro rushes out of the café, gathering Lance in his arms, looking him up and down. “Lance—Lance what the hell, it’s snowing a blizzard out here and— _fucking hell, you’re wearing sandals!_ Where’s your coat, oh my god you’re freezing, you’re—Lance, get inside, _now.”_ Lance lets himself be pushed into the Café, not paying attention to anything but other than the warmth that envelops him. He thinks he can hear Matt, he thinks that he hears Pidge and— _oh, it’s Allura._  
Lance doesn’t realise he’s crying until he suddenly can’t breathe, sobs choking him. Arms pull him close, a soft voice whispering to him as he becomes weightless in Shiro’s arms. And pathetic broken Lance throws his arms around the man’s neck, pushing into the comfort of his broad chest, the scent of coffee and cinnamon lattes calming him quicker than he wants to think about. “Hush Lance, it’s okay,” Shiro says, carrying the boy from the Café, out the back and up to the one place that Lance wants to be furthest from. 

“Hey Shiro I— _Holy shit Lance?”_ It’s Keith, with them as Shiro climbs the second set of stairs, Lance bawling, sobbing, leaving snot trails on the man’s apron that remain long after he’s been tucked into bed. “Lance? Lance babe, talk to me,” comes the sweet deep tones that caress his skin, hurting him much more than the frostbite that clings to his fingers, his nose, his neck, “Lance please—”  
“No,” Lance moans, turning away from the shadows that loom over him, away from the scent that sounds him, everything utterly, intrinsically _Shiro._

“I don’t want it anymore,” he whispers, unable to speak more those few words he repeats over and over, pushing away Shiro who tries to talk to him, tries to understand what the words mean, why Lance has stumbled up to the front door of the Café, crying his eyes out, dressed in thin clothes, red nosed, puffy eyed, nothing with him but heartbreak.

“No, no, I don’t want it,” Lance says when Shiro holds his hand and whispers reassurances that can’t be heard. “It’s okay Shiro. I’ll stay with him until he sleeps. Just… just give us a few okay. He’s fine now, he’s safe here.”  
Shiro moves back, torn between climbing under the covers so he can hold Lance tight, and hunting down whichever bastard dared to hurt his boyfriend like this. “Keith—”  
“I got this Shiro. Trust me.” 

Shiro does trust his brother. But still, it is with great difficulty that he turns from the bed, casting aside his apron in favour of hitting the couch and tearing himself up with his own dreadful thoughts. When he reaches the living room, Allura and Pidge are waiting there, with questions of their own. At least Shiro won’t be tearing himself up alone.


	25. Blend In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Lance isn’t spending Christmas alone, but it’s not long before he’s wishing he was somewhere else than here…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, three month unplanned hiatus, not good. And this is all I'm giving you? My god, I'm sorry!

**Sunday 24th December**

“Keith?”  
“Yeah?”   
“I don’t want to do this anymore.” 

It’s all Lance has said to him, too many times to count, but no matter what Keith asks, he always gets the same answers. 

“Why?”  
“It hurts too much.” 

“What hurts?”   
_“Everything.”_

Lance buries his face in the tear-stained pillow, but it doesn’t hide his hurt, doesn’t save him from the pain. Even if his eyes are closed and he’s trying to block out everything, there’s no release. Not when everything around him screams of another. Not when he’s laid here, in a bed in which Shiro has held him, kissed him, fucked him… 

The tears come sharp; burning his eyes like they are blood. He can’t see, but he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see the face of the younger brother whose resemblance will just bring more memories, more pain, more chains to bind him to this moment when he understands that he’s done wrong.   
By himself.   
By Dale.   
By _Shiro._

“It hurts,” he breathes, begging release from the tightness in his chest, the squeezing of his heart. He’s felt pain like this before, but never this intense. And with Shiro all around him, enveloping him, holding him close, dragging him back to the hopes of a future that could never be… 

_“It hurts.”_

Keith wants to speak, but he doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t even know what’s going on. One minute everyone is in the living room, unpacking their stuff as they’re staying till New Year’s, laughing and drinking while they chill, waiting for the others to arrive, and then all of a sudden Matt’s yelling for Shiro because Lance is outside in the snow.   
Now he’s on Shiro’s bed, wrapped in thermals and an electric blanket because the damn fool is about to lose his toes to frostbite.

Lance’s eyes are swollen, puffy, his hair a mess as much as himself. Keith has never seen Lance look anything other than perfection, even including that time he was sat at the dining table, his hair slightly mussed, mismatched clothes and the remnants of too many rounds in the bedroom, half asleep as he tried eating cereal off a plate.   
Seeing him now, lightless and lifeless… 

_It’s heart-breaking._

“Keith?”   
“Yeah Lance?”   
The boy doesn’t say anything. Just a small, child-like hand reaching out, taking takes Keith wrist. There’s no strength, just the slightest of tugs but that’s all the other needs until he’s climbing onto the bed, lying beside his friend, an arm thrown loosely over him, shielding his tears from the world. He cries silently, Keith’s chest aching painfully, his mind torn between staying and dragging Shiro back in so that the boy’s can talk and get whatever it is—  
But Lance doesn’t need talking right now. He needs a shoulder to lean on, a chest to cry on, and a friend to be the wall as his own defences crumble around him. “It’s okay Lance. Just sleep.” 

And sleep Lance does, still holding Keith’s wrist, his tears finally drying, but that doesn’t mean more won’t fall when he wakes. And when the boy does, they’re going to sit, and talk and they’re going to learn why Lance is hurting. 

For now, Keith leaves the room, being quiet when he closes the door, ushering Blu away when she mewls for her favourite human. Ignoring Keith, she scratches at the bedroom door, spurring him to cradle her in his arms, shushing her as the pair make their way back downstairs to the living room. The once-merry mood from earlier has been replaced by concern and tension.   
Hunk and Shay have arrived, and are talking in low voices with the Holt siblings in the kitchen, half keeping an eye on dinner whilst Shiro and Allura sit side by side on the sofa. At Keith’s arrival, Shiro stands, by his side, gaze flicking up the stairs, a question ready—  
“He’s asleep. He’s exhausted Shiro, so just leave him for now.” But Shiro doesn’t need convincing, shuffling back, legs hitting the sofa and he crumples back down like he had been earlier. 

Keith sets Blu down before she can get annoyed at him and claw her way out his hands. As soon as all fours reach the floor, she bounds away, up the stairs, meowing at the bedroom door again. No one chases after her. 

“So, what now?” Pidge asks, because they get that it can’t be all nice-as-pie now that Lance has turned up out the blue, halfway through a meltdown while they were all starting on their early Christmas party.   
It’s not long for everyone to figure out that doing anything for Lance was futile, and with less cheer than anyone wanted, they seat themselves in front of the TV to watch The Snowman while Shiro and Hunk make a start on cooking dinner.   
No one openly claims duty for checking on Lance, but when the movie ends, it’s Keith who heads upstairs. When the sequel finishes, it’s Matt who checks to see if their friend is awake, and by the time everyone is helping clear the dinner table, Shiro traipses up the stairs to his bedroom. 

Blu, curled up on the edge of the bed, watches him with one lazy eye, but judging him as non-threatening makes no move to protect Lance. He’s still deep asleep, arms hugging Shiro’s pillow tightly, face buried in the down. He doesn’t wake when the older sits beside him, nor when he lets his fingers run through his boyfriend’s hair. He promised Keith he’ll let him sleep, so he doesn’t wake Lance, no matter how much he wants to, wanting to gather him up in his arms and promise him that everything is alright, Shiro will fix it, even if he has no idea what is wrong.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Monday 25th December**

“Merry Christmas.” 

That’s what greets Lance first thing in the morning, sneaking down the stairs at ass-o’clock in the morning when everyone was meant to be sleeping. Emphasis on _“meant”_ because the sleeping don’t speak. Yet a certain amount of luck blesses Lance when it’s not Shiro who greet him. He had woke in Shiro’s bed _(Shiro’s bed, for fuck sake!),_ sneaking downstairs to find the owner still asleep, but just laid out on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, sharing a blow-up mattress with five cats. Matt was next to him, on his own creation of stacked blankets instead of a mattress, asleep just like Shiro.   
It was Keith who wasn’t comatose; sat on the sofa, legs hidden underneath a furry blanket, the rest of him clad in fluffy Spiderman pyjamas that anyone would think belonged to a five-year-old.

“Ah, yeah. Merry Christmas.”   
It’s quiet, weak and pathetic. 

Just like Lance. 

Keith doesn’t look up from his phone. Or at least, he doesn’t divert what little attention he _was_ paying to his phone to Lance, who just pushes past the drifting sleep-sadness-tear haze to the kitchen. He doesn’t let his head think, just working on practiced muscle memory until he’s sat on the sofa next to Keith, the two of them sipping at hot chocolate and watching early morning talk shows on quiet – to save from waking Shiro and Matt. 

Yet the peace doesn’t last. 

Lance has to admit, he’s impressed Keith has put off asking questions for all of ten minutes, before a gentle nudge pulls him from where he’s been staring at the TV and not taking anything in.   
“I thought you were meant to be seeing your family for Christmas. What happened?” Keith’s voice is soft, but he’s trying not to act like he cares in that weird sort of way of acting, like he’s not sure how to socialise properly. And Lance, forcing a smile and a fake laugh all too easily identified as fake just stares down at his hot chocolate. “Nah, they didn’t want me there this year. Guess they just finally had the guts to say something and skip out on pretences altogether.” The self-deprecating humour isn’t new, but it doesn’t sit well with Keith, who can actually _hear_ the truth. 

“Lance.” 

_Nothing._

Keith nudges Lance again. 

“Fine,” Lance laments. “They went to visit Maya in Australia. Dad thought he told me weeks ago. Luis and his family went with them, so he’s going to come visit in the new year and bring everything back over for me.” Lance snorts, a scowl on his face. “Yeah, like presents are what I was after.” But the bitterness fades and he drops his eyes back to his cup once more. 

He slips into silence, Keith knowing no amount of nudging and poking will do any good. So he shuffles closer, empty cup abandoned in favour of cocooning both Lance and himself in his furry blanket.   
Lance, as expected, leans into Keith’s space like he’s done a thousand times when they watched movies, his head pillowing on Keith’s shoulder, sniffling back fresh tears. Keith loops his arm around Lance’s waist, and waits. 

“It’s just… it’s what we do _every_ Christmas. We all go home, see the family, see the neighbours and…” the boy sighs again, the back of his hand brushing tears from his eyes before they could roll down his cheeks.   
“I _miss_ them. And I know that things change, that we’re not always going to be as close as we were.” 

The boy trails off again, staring at his cup like it holds all the answers.   
“We’re all growing up. I get that. Maya’s got a kid now, Luis has got two. I’m finishing University next term and…” He drops his head into his hands again. “I just didn’t want to lose them. It was hard moving away in the first place, but then when Hunk found out he got in too, things would be easier. It was, for a time, and then Rolo and D-Dale certainly helped.” Lance choked mid-sentence, rushing to cover his bluster by downing the rest of his drink.   
Whether it was the scalding of the hot chocolate or fresh tears from his own words, Lance didn’t let on. 

“I don’t know,” he says, laughing slightly as the tears began to slow. He snuggles closer to Keith, folding his legs behind him, away from the cold of the winter-morning air.   
“I think it’s just a few things. Like, not going home, being home sick. I miss Abuela, and I’m worried about her. Then I had Iverson on my back yesterday.” Lance slumps back into the sofa, his voice twisted in irritation. “The one-eyed jerk is a shit-stick who can’t get off my back at all. I don’t know what I did that made him hate me, but I wish I did so I could do it all the more.” He laughs then, his tone one of distant amusement. “Almost sent him a _‘fuck you’_ email yesterday. Or whenever. Might’ve been yesterday, but I can’t really remember. It was actually Rolo who stopped me, which is hilarious considering how many he’s sent out himself, pissing people left, right and center.” 

Lance laughs again.  
It doesn’t sound right, but that’s to be expected.   
All things considered. 

Shiro is awake now. 

Keith can see the tension in his body that wouldn’t be there otherwise. He’s listening to Lance talk, to the way his voice flips back and forth from tried patience to self-hate and wet, winter misery. It irritates Keith, and he’s about to kick Shiro in the gut to make him “wake-up” and comfort Lance himself, but—

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this—” Lance says suddenly, sitting up, pulling away, “—Not today.”   
Keith turns his head catching the way Lance is looking at his brother. “I shouldn’t be here either. I should just go home.” 

“Well there is no way that is happening.” 

Both boys jump at the sound of another, turning their eyes to the stairs. Pidge is stood there in their late-night get-up, complete with mussed hair and skewed glasses that tell them both the Gremlin has for-gone sleep for the sake of beating noobs at an online game or other. They look frighteningly intimidating, one hand on their hip, the other finger pointed deliberately at Lance. “It’s Christmas dumbass. You can’t spend it alone. Your family is too far away, so you’re stuck with this one.”   
Their words are spoken in a way that sounds suspiciously like _“challenge me bitch, but win or lose, I’ll shave your eyebrows.”_

Lance’s lips quirk at the corner, but he’s shaking his head. “I can’t, I invaded—”  
“Oh for fuck’s sake Lance, you have invading rights,” Keith said, forgetting himself and – _lightly_ – clipped the boy over the back of his head. Did the bastard conveniently forget he was dating Shiro or something? 

“Come on. You look like shit so you need a shower.” He shoved Lance in the small of the back, making him yelp, the other turning back with a scowl and the usual energy of anger in his eyes, only slightly dampened by the paleness of earlier tears. “I don’t look like shit, you’re the one that looks like shit.”  
“How about we stop with the playground insults before Allura wakes up and sees you or I looking anything less than adequate. Because trust me, that’s an invitation to a make over even _you_ wouldn’t want.” It seems to be enough, and Lance is off the sofa, trailing after Pidge, listening to them scold him about not even invading properly, enough that he had failed to stay awake, and missed out on a drunk game of Strip - Cards Against Humanity.   
Not that Lance should’ve minded. No one needs to see that much of Matt. 

When the bathroom door closes and the sound of water running thrums through the pipes, Keith turns back to the pathetic acting that is his brother, still laid flat on his stomach with Tiger, Lazarus and Socks curled up on his back. “You could’ve spoken to him then, rather than wussing out,” Keith says, digging his toe into his brother’s hip. It gets the same response as always – a yelp and a rushed withdrawal that pushes him onto Matt’s piled blankets, effectively pushing Mr I’m-also-awake-but-I-was-pretending-too onto the floor.   
The cats scramble, hissing and yowling, but they’re ignored over the sounds of Shiro and Matt’s combined whining. 

Keith is having none of it. 

“Get your ass up there Shiro. The two of you need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when the next chapter will be up but THIS WORK IS NOT ABANDONED! 
> 
> I WILL GET IT DONE, THIS I SWEAR!!!


	26. Espresso Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith notices Lance isn't quite in the festive spirit. It's okay. He'll cheer him-- hey, wait guys. What are you doing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, but this is kind of like a re-upload.   
> I ended up changing the end bit because I wasn't happy with it.   
> Apologies x

**Monday 25th December**

Lance sank lower into the sofa, leaning into Keith’s warmth, like he was Pluto and Keith was the sun.   
The shift pulls Matt closer, slipping off the perch of the sofa’s arm, not really paying attention to the way he sandwiches Lance; too focused on spamming his group chat with Christmas emojis while still trying to one-up Pidge as they wrestled for first place on Mario Kart. Keith has it, and he’s not willing to give it up to either, nor Hunk that holds the threat of burning Christmas dinner.   
Not that the big guy would ever dream of doing such a monstrous act, but the threat still stands and the three of his opponents have considered forfeit on more than one occasion.   
Besides, Rainbow Road is the next track and Hunk holds the title of reigning champion for too many game nights to count. 

A particularly loud bout of laughter pulls Lance’s attention from the friendly threats of death in front of him, to the sight of the two still digging into a belated breakfast, after being chased out of the kitchen earlier by the boisterous youngers. 

Lance feels himself scowl, his hands curling into fists. Then, deciding he doesn’t care, Lance is snuggling into Keith’s warmth to help melt the ice that prickles at his heart. 

Mullet glances down at him, able to pull his eyes from the screen while the loading montage plays. His gaze shifts from the boy curled into him, to Allura and Shiro that are sat next to each other by the dining table, practically piled on top of one another where they’re trying to avoid piles of stacked presents that won’t fit under the tree.   
Lazarus has claimed the only other free chair, and both idiots bow to the law that when a sleeping cat lies, you do not bother them. So, bunched up together on one bench it is, talking in quick, quiet voices that is certainly doing something to wind up Lance’s jealousy, enough that he’s actively ignoring them. 

They had skipped on talking this morning, with Shiro traipsing around after Lance only being unable to really talk when he found the boy with another, or not finding him at all. Lance was the one doing the avoiding, but Keith wasn’t going to pressure him either, considering this morning and last night and…   
Well, Lance was upset by something and now stuck here until a locksmith was available sometime tomorrow to let him back in his flat was the worst of his worries. No one was going to pile on a forced heart-to-heart with his boyfriend. They’d get to that in their own time. 

But for now, Keith was free to tease his friend as much as he wanted to. 

“Jealous?”  
“No,” Lance snapped, far too quickly for his words to be anything but a lie. 

“No?”  
“No. Not at all. They can have fun there, I’m having plenty of fun here.” 

Lance pouts again, a finger prodded into Keith’s ribs and a quick “the race has started Mullet. You’re losing.” He’s right, and Keith is quick to jam his fingers against the controllers to beat the last NPC off of the starting line.   
Their conversation is held on pause for a once-around the track. Meanwhile Allura and Shiro have decided that breakfast will be better spent leant over her phone, scrolling through the pictures of Rayon’s after-party. Lance can’t stop throwing little looks, his fingers all fidgety, plucking at the tufts on the fur blanket but not really pulling any out.   
It’s kind of pathetic really and Keith really wants to order Shiro to take Lance upstairs for a quick make-out session to calm him— _but no, no, he said he wasn’t going to bother him too much._

Hunk takes first place in Rainbow Road but Pidge, the gaming Gremlin, takes first overall. Keith doesn’t want to listen to them brag, turning to Allura so they can team up and take them on— 

_Huh?_

Keith happened to turn around when Allura was looking to Lance, a smile pulling at her lips that was more than just amusement at her boyfriend’s drunk texts. There’s a look to Pidge, a shared grin, and then Allura pushes in even closer, a hand on Shiro’s arm, weirdly close, another look to Lance—

_Oh.  
Oh, you bitch. _

Pidge’s bragging filters back into his head, their little song/dance combination quickly stopped when Keith throws a cushion, catching them in the face, enough to skew their glasses. “Can it Pidge. We’re only on round one.”   
“What he said,” Shay laughs, throwing her own pillow, in the clear for return fire with Socks curled up on her lap. Pidge flashes the bird to the pair of them, but they recede to the sofa as Matt declares for the next batch of races, Hunk quick to comply before anyone thinks to carry on throwing cushions. 

“Defend my honour?” Keith asks, the controller already under Lance’s nose before he’s turned back around again – he was stealing glances at his boyfriend and the too close idiot who flashes her own grin at the back of his head. 

Lance just shrugs the controller away. “Nah, you guys have fun, I’m fine—”  
“Oh, don’t think you could do better. I see how it is.” But no sooner had Keith withdrawn, Lance snatches the thing out his hand, determination clear on his face as Hunk fires up the race, Shay his personal cheering squad and a beautiful phrase of curses from Pidge. “Just you watch. I’m going to get perfect laps in all four races, claim that gold and then you’ll have to admit that I’m the better racer.”   
“You’re all talk,” Keith jibes, and it’s enough for Lance to give the television his undivided attention.   
Meaning Keith can text freely without fear of the idiot reading his screen. 

He opens up his private chat with Allura, but deciding against it, starts a new one, inviting the she-devil, gremlin and gremlin-two as well. He had seen the smug little grin they shared. And if Pidge is involved, then Matt is too, somewhere along the line. 

_ _

_Keef: Anyone want to explain why Allura is acting like a pole dancer with Shiro the pole?_

Not three seconds later, Allura splutters a curse behind him, then her icon is lighting up.

_ _

_Allurve: WHAT!?!?!?_

_ _

_Keef: Just saying_

_ _

_Meme: Just saying_

_ _

_Smidge: Just saying_

Keith glanced up to thing-one and thing-two, still playing the racing game, but now only half-heartedly as Keith’s text-chat has pulled enough of their attention to reply. 

_ _

_Keef: For reals though. The hands? The touching_

_ _

_Smidge: We have a bet running on who can make Lance crack first._

_ _

_Keef: Crack?_

Keith can’t help but frown, his eyes skimming to the boy. Lance hasn’t noticed much around him now his attention is being drawn by the screen. He’s in first place, but the idiot isn’t really trying and that makes sense, what with the reasons as to why he’s here, and lanky-long-leg bitch who is teasing him under the table. 

Keith’s phone buzzes in his hand, beginning to read Pidge’s explanation. 

_ _

_Smidge: We all know something is going on between the pair of them, more than just what Lance has admitted to and Shiro’s incapability to outright ask his boyfriend what’s bugging him. Blame whoever you want, but this day is going to drag downhill for all of us if those two don’t get their shit together. Hunk said if we push Lance and he notices, he’ll clam up or run. So instead we’re going to make him go on the defensive. Besides, if Lance chews Shiro out, then that is his own punishment for being such a pussy and not doing anything._

Keith stares at his phone. It’s obvious Pidge is pissed at Shiro for their obvious lack-lustre, but it feels more like they’re putting Lance through the ringer and hoping that he’ll chew Shiro out instead of them. 

_ _

_Keef: No I don’t agree. It’s their problem. If we push them, who knows what will happen._

_ _

_Meme: Maybe Shiro will grow a spine._

_ _

_Smidge: Maybe Lance will fuck him._

Keith feels his brow furrow, about to text back _“or maybe you’ll end up doing damage you can’t fix”_ when Lance taps his elbow. Keith looks up, subconsciously pulling his phone to his chest so Lance doesn’t accidently read his screen. He doesn’t want to be the one that hammers the final nail, even accidentally.   
Lance, luckily, doesn’t notice. “Any word from the locksmith?”   
“Not yet. I was hoping they’d be open for boxing day but it’s not looking good. Nothing back from the Dorm Manager?” Lance shakes his head. “Nothing. Instead, you think I can borrow your phone? There’s someone who might be able to help.” 

Keith raised an eyebrow, but obliged anyway, making sure to hit the home screen button to hide the group chat. He knew Lance wouldn’t pry – he’s not like that. Still. 

“Who you texting?”   
“My roommate. I was hoping he might’ve hidden a key somewhere.”   
“Rolo? Or Dave.”   
_“Dale,”_ Lance amends, his voice loud enough and clipped with an edge that has Hunk lift his head from the other sofa. He frowns in the pairs general direction, but when Keith asks a silent question, Hunk’s subtle shake shoots him down. 

Later then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies it wasn't anything new.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure you’ve subscribed for upload notifications – because you know me and my shitty ability to keep to an upload schedule. 
> 
> Much love   
> ~Fae xxx


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